


See What Could Be

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Blood, Demigods, Developing Relationship, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prophecy, Quests, The Mist - Freeform, sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 57,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6459145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Grantaire ever wanted was to be normal, but he's always seen too much for his own good. Now, he's gotten himself in the middle of a world filled with gods, monsters, prophecies, quests, and the hottest guy he's ever met. Grantaire's taken great care not to believe in anything in his life, but fate and the goddess Aphrodite may just have other things in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lady in the Limo

**Author's Note:**

> A long, long time ago, I wrote a Les Mis/Percy Jackson headcanon that just popped in my head, figuring it'd be a great story that I'd never have time to tell. Well, I recently reread the PJO books and couldn't put the idea away, so this fic is the result. 
> 
> As with most of my AUs, I've tried to make this accessible to those unfamiliar with the source material. Since this _is_ a crossover, rather than just an AU, there is probably more of an assumed familiarity, but I'm hoping those who aren't familiar will enjoy it nonetheless. Spoilers for all of the PJO and Heroes of Olympus books. Officially canon-divergent with the publication of The Trials of Apollo, but should be roughly canon through the end of Heroes of Olympus.
> 
> I didn't put an underage warning on this though the main two characters are about 16, mainly because nothing really sexual will happen, but if it's something that concerns you, consider this a warning.
> 
> Much of the Percy Jackson stuff is front-loaded in the first several chapters for world-building purposes, but I've tried to weave Les Mis details throughout. I've never written anything for the Percy Jackson fandom before, so constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> I have no idea how frequently I'll be updating this - at least once a week, possibly twice a week, but anything more frequently than that will be played by ear.
> 
>  **HUGE** thanks to tumblr users [aseriousbunburyist](http://aseriousbunburyist.tumblr.com/), [geektaire](http://geektaire.tumblr.com/), [impetusofadream](http://impetusofadream.tumblr.com/), [itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare](http://itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare.tumblr.com/) and [beesarealiens](http://raiseaglasstofreedom.co.vu/) for reading the first few chapters and providing invaluable feedback!
> 
> Usual disclaimer - I own nothing but my own typos. Please be kind and tip your fanfic readers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Grantaire wanted to point out that none of this was his fault.

Ok, so, yes, he did skip summer school, and sure, he had swiped some of his dad’s whiskey when he left the house for the city that day, but that didn’t mean that he deserved to have a rabid lion-thingy chase him down the street. It was the strangest lion he had ever seen, so strange that he wasn’t entirely sure it was a lion. For one thing, it had wings, and for another, it had a human head that was grinning at him as if it couldn’t imagine anything better than eating him alive.

Oh, and it had a scorpion’s tail that kept shooting darts at him. Just to add to the fun.

Grantaire yelped as one of the darts hit uncomfortably close to his feet. “Look out!” he called to the passerbys that he was dashing past on the sidewalk, but none of them seemed to give him a second glance as he sped by. And none of them seemed to notice the creature chasing him.

It would’ve been the strangest thing to happen to Grantaire — if only it hadn’t happened before.

Well, not necessarily being chased by a huge lion-thingy. But monsters had been a daily part of Grantaire’s sixteen years basically as long as he could remember. And while neither of his parents seemed to believe him—

Yeah, Grantaire had two parents. Why? Is that weird? Sure, they weren’t necessarily the  _ best _ parents — his dad was always working and his mom just didn’t seem to care about him all that much — but they existed nonetheless. He had inherited his mother’s messy dark hair and his father’s hazel eyes, though if it hadn’t have been for that, he would’ve been convinced he was adopted.

Anyway, his parents had never believed that Grantaire saw monsters and all manners of creatures and strange things. One of his earliest and most vivid memories was going on a trip to the St. Louis Arch with his parents, and witnessing a Middle School-aged kid being attacked by a chimera before leaping out of the Arch and into the Mississippi River.

And that wasn’t even the strangest thing he had seen growing up.

Even worse than his parents not believing him was the ridicule and mocking he had drawn from his classmates growing up. It was no wonder that he hadn’t done well in school, despite good test scores, no wonder that he skipped school at every chance he got and slacked and goofed off. At least if his classmates were laughing at his antics, they weren’t laughing at the time he thought their seventh grade history teacher was a centaur, or the lunch lady was a harpy.

But now matter what weird things he saw, and for some reason  _ only _ he saw, they didn’t normally attack him. Normally, they didn’t pay him, or any other humans, any attention at all. This time was different. This time felt bizarrely personal.

_ I didn’t do it! _ Grantaire wanted to shout at the creature — a manticore, his mind supplied, though from where, he didn’t know — but since he didn’t know what it was this monster thought he had done, he couldn’t very well say that he hadn’t done it. 

Another dart smashed on the sidewalk near Grantaire’s feet and he yelped again, wishing for not the first time that day that he couldn’t see monsters, or that they just didn’t exist. The manticore was the fourth or fifth monster to attack him in the past few weeks, but none of the others had come this close to getting him. And none had seemed quite as dangerous or as liable to kill him.

He threw a panicked look over his shoulder. The monster was gaining on him, and he looked around wildly for some way out. Just ahead, a limousine pulled to a stop at the corner, and he glanced over it with a practiced eye. Armored. VIP. Could possibly withstand a manticore attack.

With a deftness he didn’t know he had, Grantaire dove toward the door of the limo, wrenched it open, slid inside and slammed it behind him before collapsing, breathing heavily.

“Well what do we have here?” a female voice asked coolly, and Grantaire looked up, suddenly feeling like he might have been better off staying outside of the limo.

Then again, maybe not, since the limo rocked wildly as the manticore slammed into it, and Grantaire closed his eyes, for the first time feeling truly scared. “Dearest, take care of it, will you?” the woman asked, sounding almost bored, and there was a low rumble of male laughter, followed by a snap of his fingers and a weird  _ pop _ as the manticore...well, as the manticore seemed to just disappear.

For the first time, Grantaire managed to look up at the limo’s occupants, and his jaw dropped open. Sitting across from him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. It was impossible to describe what she looked like, because her appearance kept changing, First she was brunette, but then changed to blonde, and her eyes went from brown to green to gray to blue. As for what she was wearing...Grantaire honestly never made it past looking at her face.

“You can stop staring at any time, punk,” the man at her side growled, and Grantaire only just managed to tear his eyes away to look at him for the first time. He was big and looked mean, decked out in leather and combat boots, and was for some reason wearing sunglasses indoors.

Grantaire bristled, but before he could retort, the lady laughed, and Grantaire again forgot everything because while the woman’s face was beautiful enough, it was nothing compared to the her laugh, a light and delicate sound that made Grantaire feel a little woozy. “Now, now,” she said, patting the big man on the arm, “that’s no way to talk to our guest.” She looked carefully at Grantaire. “And what is your name, young man?”

For a moment, Grantaire couldn’t seem to speak, but when the man shifted menacingly in his seat, he managed to stammer, “Gr—Grantaire, ma’am.”

“Oh, there’s no need to call me ‘ma’am’,” she assured him, smiling sweetly, though there was something sharp in her smile. “Grantaire, hm? French?”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Yeah, uh, it was my mom’s maiden name,” he muttered, blushing furiously under her scrutiny. “Kind of stupid, I know…”

Her smile grew brighter, and Grantaire’s blush only deepened as she assured him, “No, no, I happen to be very fond of the French. They are a people who understand the deep and complicated nature of love, and you might say that love is my specialty.”

This seemed to be an inside joke between her and the man at her side, since both laughed slightly at that, and Grantaire tried to smile weakly, but couldn’t seem to manage it. “So, uh, what’s your name?” he asked awkwardly, shrinking back when the man scowled dangerously at him.

“That’s none of your business—” he started, but when the woman again touched him, he sat back, though he didn’t look happy about it.

“You can call me Aphrodite,” she told Grantaire.

Grantaire scratched the back of his neck. “LIke...the goddess of love?” he asked, feeling stupid. Who in the heck would name their kid after a Greek goddess? Even if she did look beautiful enough to fit the part.

Her smile widened. “Very much like that, yes.” She waved dismissively at her companion. “And as for my friend...you may address him as—”

“Lord Ares, god of War,” the man growled, something almost maniacal in his smile. 

Grantaire looked from Aphrodite to Ares, trying to decide if this was some sort of cosmic joke. If it was, he wasn’t laughing. “So let me get this straight,” he said, shifting towards the door of the limo, figuring that if these two were as crazy as Grantaire thought they were, he could probably get out before they killed him. Probably. “You’re the goddess of love and the god of war, who I just happened to run into because I was fleeing a manticore, and you’re just chilling in a limo in the middle of New York City for...I don’t know, fun?”

Aphrodite smiled. “Technically, we’re waiting for my son,” she corrected him. “He was supposed to be hunting the manticore that instead decided to chase you. And as for why or even how you managed to run into us, well…” She shrugged gracefully. “There are some mysteries in the world even we can’t explain.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully with one perfectly manicured finger. “Though I do have my suspicions, and if I’m right…” She trailed off, her smile growing wider and her eyes gleaming as she looked at Grantaire like he was something she wanted to devour. “If I’m right, that means it’s long past time I had a conversation with Apollo. The spirit of Delphi has been quiet for far too long.”

Nothing that Aphrodite had said made any sense to Grantaire, but he found himself nodding as if he completely understood. “Right...the spirit of...right.”

Aphrodite snapped her fingers and a pad of paper appeared in mid-air, accompanied by a lurid glittery pink pen with a fuzzy heart attached to the end. She picked up the pen and started scribbling something down, while telling Grantaire, suddenly businesslike, “I do believe it was serendipity that we met today, Grantaire Durand.” Grantaire’s eyes widened — he had never told her his last name. “And I regret that I cannot spend more time with you, as I would love to know so much more. But there’s someone who will benefit from your company far more than I.”

She ripped the top sheet off the pad of paper, folded it in half and offered to Grantaire, who stared at it like he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it. “This will get you safely to camp. From there, I have some wonderful surprises in store for you.” She looked so happy that Grantaire couldn’t help but smile, though his smile faltered as she continued, “Danger, indecision, possible heartbreak...oh, I haven’t had this much to look forward to in  _ years _ .”

Grantaire’s voice didn’t seem to be working properly as he squeaked, “Danger? What kind of danger?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that just yet,” Aphrodite told him sweetly, and to his surprise, she leaned in to kiss his cheek lightly, ignoring the angry rumbling from the man next to her. “I can’t interfere much more or it just wouldn’t be fair. Of course, love isn’t fair. But I can give you my blessing before you even need to ask for it.”

His cheek was tingling from where her lips had touched his skin, and Grantaire raised an almost reverent hand to touch the spot, though he froze when he saw a strange reddish glow coming from his skin. As quickly as he spotted it, the glow disappeared, but it left Grantaire feeling strange, and he stared at Aphrodite, trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the past five minutes. “Take the note, kid,” Ares growled, and Grantaire shook his head slightly to clear it before reaching forward and grabbing the note.

“Be nice, dearest,” Aphrodite chided, though she suddenly perked up. “Oh, unless I’m mistaken, your escort approaches. He’ll take you to camp, and if I’m right, well beyond that as well.” She clapped her hands together happily. “I can barely wait! You may be just a mortal, dear, but I suspect you’ve got quite the role to play in this.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to ask one of the approximately eight thousand questions swirling in his mind right now, but before he could say anything, someone rapped on the window of the limo. Aphrodite waved her hand and the door opened to admit a young man about Grantaire’s age. 

For the second time that day, Grantaire’s mouth fell open, because while Aphrodite had an otherworldly beauty, this guy was just plain gorgeous. He had blond curls and deep blue eyes, and even though he was currently scowling, Grantaire could tell that his facial features looked like they’d been carved from the finest marble. He looked like...like Adonis, like a Greek statue come to life, and Grantaire wanted to do nothing more than try to sculpt an exact copy. Or just make out with him. Either way.

Aphrodite positively beamed at them both. “Grantaire Durand, allow me to introduce my son,” she said, waving at the guy as if he were a prize on a gameshow. “This is Enjolras. And he’ll be taking you to camp.”


	2. The Cab Ride to Camp

“Wow,” Grantaire croaked, before he realized what he had said, but Aphrodite just winked at him like she knew what he was thinking.

She turned to Enjolras, opening her arms for him to come embrace her. “Give your mother a hug, dear,” she crooned, but Grantaire noticed that Enjolras didn’t seem particularly excited as he leaned in to give Aphrodite a stiff hug. “Now, darling, I know I promised that we would talk about your future, but I’m afraid the future is already in motion, and you must first take this nice young man to camp.” She waved a dismissive hand in Grantaire’s direction, as if he was already an afterthought. “I wrote a note to explain everything to Chiron, but you’d better hurry. The manticore was only distracted temporarily, but it’ll return, and angrier than before.”

Aphrodite didn’t seem worried by this; in fact, she seemed almost giddy at the thought. Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire, his expression unreadable, then looked back at Aphrodite. “I’ll take him back to camp,” he said, his voice low but swoon-worthy (not that Grantaire was going to swoon or anything. Probably. Maybe). “But I don’t know if I’ll be able to get him past the boundary.”

“Oh, don’t worry, dear, he carries my blessing,” Aphrodite said sweetly, gesturing at Grantaire, who felt the kiss she’d given him earlier burn against his cheek like a brand, and he flushed fuchsia as Enjolras scowled at him. “That should be enough for the boundary.”

Aphrodite turned her 1000-watt smile to Grantaire, who thought that with both Enjolras and Aphrodite looking at him he might just melt into a puddle of goo. It wouldn’t be the worst way to go. “It was so lovely to meet you, Grantaire. I’ll watch your progress with great interest.”

She waved her hand and the next thing Grantaire knew, he was outside of the limo, standing on the sidewalk next to Enjolras, who was gripping Grantaire’s elbow with one hand, his expression grim. In his other hand, he held a 10-foot long pole that was topped by a sinister-looking bronze spearhead. Grantaire eyed it nervously. “Uh, that looks...sharp.”

Enjolras glanced up at the spear as if he had forgotten it was there. “It is,” he said shortly, and he let go of Grantaire’s elbow. “But it won’t hurt you.”

“You seem pretty confident of that,” Grantaire muttered, taking a step back and glancing around to see if anyone else noticed the giant weapon. To his utter lack of surprise at this point, no one else seemed to notice or care that Enjolras was hoisting a spear in the middle of New York City.

For the first time, Enjolras almost smiled, but it quickly disappeared. “It’s celestial bronze  — it doesn’t affect mortals.” He glanced up at the spear and told it calmly, “Shrink.”

Grantaire was about to tell Enjolras that talking to spears probably wasn’t going to do much, but the spear instantly started to shrink in Enjolras’s hand until it had morphed into a wickedly sharp bronze dagger, which Enjolras thrust through his belt without a second glance. Grantaire gaped at him. “Your...your spear…” he stammered, feeling a headache of godly proportions coming on after witnessing this most recent lunacy.

As if noticing Grantaire’s impending nervous breakdown, Enjolras frowned and took his elbow again, pulling him towards the street. “I promise everything will be explained in time,” he said quietly. “You just have to have faith for the moment and keep it together.”

“Yeah, well, faith doesn’t exactly come easy to me, Apollo,” Grantaire muttered, trying not to look at the dagger as if that might somehow make the whole thing disappear.

Enjolras stopped in his tracks, scowling again. “ _ What _ did you call me?” he snapped.

Grantaire scowled right back at him. “You look like that statue of Apollo  — Apollo Belvedere or whatever.”  _ And you’re about as cold as marble as well _ , he thought to himself, but had the sense not to add aloud. “And besides, you’re...you’re like a Greek god, so forgive me for giving you a fitting nickname.”

“I’m nothing like Apollo,” was Enjolras’s only response, though his expression relaxed slightly. “And he wouldn’t like the comparison either.”

He started digging through his pocket, clearly looking for something, and Grantaire frowned. “You talk about Apollo as if you’ve met him,” he said slowly. “But that’s…” He wanted to say impossible, but he was beginning to get a very nasty suspicion that Enjolras was serious. Which meant, if Apollo was real, then… “Wait, is your mom  _ really _ the goddess of Love?”

“Love, beauty, pleasure, etcetera,” Enjolras said distractedly, pulling a golden coin out of his pocket. “Found it!”

Grantaire stared at the coin, which had what looked like the Empire State Building stamped on the side he could see. “Is that some sort of collector’s coin?” he asked, surprised, because Enjolras didn’t exactly strike him as the kind of person that would carry around something so commonplace.

Enjolras glared at him. “Of course not,” he snapped. “This is our cab fare.” Though Grantaire wanted to point out that there wasn’t a taxi in Manhattan that would take a gold coin, he decided against it, instead watching with wide eyes as Enjolras called, “Stêthi, Ô hárma diabolês!” before throwing the coin into the street.

The coin didn’t bounce against the asphalt, instead sinking through the street and disappearing. Grantaire gaped at the spot where it had been. “How…?” he started, his voice strangled, but then he cut himself off with a yelp, leaping backward from the sidewalk as a car seemed to erupt from the asphalt  — a smoky gray taxi clearly labelled GRAY SISTERS on the door.

“Well, this is our ride,” Enjolras said, a little unnecessarily, opening the door and stepping back to let Grantaire crawl in first.

For a moment, Grantaire thought about just turning around and running away while screaming at the top of his lungs. Everything that had happened to him today seemed to merit that response at the very least. But another part of him, the part that was for better or for worse eternally curious, wanted to see what would happen at this camp. And a third part of him wanted to spend as much time as he could with Enjolras. Teenage hormones were as powerful a motivator as anything.

So he clambered into the cab, freezing once he got inside because the taxi was seemingly being driven by three ancient ladies. “Two to Camp Half-Blood,” Enjolras told the old women firmly as he slid in next to Grantaire, like this was a normal taxi ride.

“That one’s mortal!” the lady in the middle complained, gesturing vaguely in Grantaire’s direction with a bony finger. “I can’t see him but I can smell him!”

“Then smell harder, Wasp!” the lady furthest right screeched. “The boy carries the blessing of Aphrodite! Even I can smell that!”

“No one asked you, Tempest!” the lady driving snapped, and without warning, she pulled the cab out into traffic without looking to see if she was going to hit anyone. Grantaire swore and grabbed the door handle, feeling suddenly ill. “Give me the coin, I want to bite it!”

“You bit it last time, Anger,” Wasp snarled. “And you’ve got the eye. The coin is mine!”

Grantaire glanced over at Enjolras, who looked quite unconcerned by this whole exchange. “The eye?” he asked, focusing on the thing that made the most sense about this entirely nonsensical situation.

Enjolras shrugged. “They only have one eye,” he told Grantaire casually, glancing out the window at the New York scenery that was speeding by at far too fast a pace. “Total. But at least the driver seems to have it this time. Last time I took the Gray Sisters, Tempest was driving but Wasp had the eye and it was just a disaster.”

“Right, a disaster,” Grantaire muttered, his eyes darting nervously around the taxi as if he was tempted to dive out. “As opposed to now, which is totally not a disaster.”

To his surprise, Enjolras offered him a tentative smile, and looked so hot doing so that Grantaire forgot that he was about to die at the hands of three crazy ladies with only one eye between them. “It’ll be fine,” he promised, and Grantaire found himself relaxing at Enjolras’s reassurance, more so than he thought was possible, as if there was some power in his voice. “Believe it or not, the Gray Sisters are actually quite wise. They have a tendency to know things.”

Wasp smirked at Grantaire in the rearview mirror, and he tried not to stare at the gaping hole where her eye should be. “Yes, we know things!” she assured him. “Indoor plumbing  — it’s gonna be big!”

“They already have indoor plumbing!” Tempest snapped. “You’re in the wrong century!”

Wasp shrieked and aimed a punch at Tempest’s head. Lacking the eye, she missed by a mile. “You’re the one who told Ploutos last week not to invest in Betamax! How’s  _ that _ for wrong century!”

Anger ignored her sisters and swivelled to stare at Enjolras with the sole eye they possessed. “We know your first stop on your quest,” she told him smugly, and Enjolras immediately froze, his eyes stormy as he stared at her. 

“What quest?” he demanded, as the other sisters wailed in despair, each reaching over the other in what looked like an attempt to throttle Anger.

“He didn’t even ask!” Tempest wailed. “Be quiet!”

Though Anger turned back around to fight with her sisters (the steering wheel of the taxi was quite forgotten, and the car seemed to drive with a mind of its own), she shouted over the din at Enjolras, “You wouldn’t want to know anything, if your brother is anything like my sisters! Siblings are the worst!”

Grantaire looked back and forth between the quarreling ancient women and Enjolras, whose eyes were gleaming, as if watching a fascinating ping-pong game. “Do you know what they’re talking about?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Enjolras muttered, a contemplative look on his face. “But I’ll know more once we get to camp.”

Grantaire glanced toward the front of the cab. “You’re not going to ask them for more information?”

Enjolras shook his head. “There’s not much point,” he said. “Unless you’ve got their eye to hold hostage, they’re not normally very forthcoming.”

Shrugging, Grantaire leaned back in his seat, staring up at the gray ceiling of the taxi. “Not very forthcoming,” he muttered. “I wonder what that’s like.” He glanced over at Enjolras. “Adonis.”

“I’m sorry?” Enjolras said, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Did you call me Adonis?”

“Well, you didn’t like Apollo, so I thought Adonis might work,” Grantaire said innocently.

Enjolras gritted his teeth. “I’d rather not be referred to by the name of one of my mother’s former lovers,” he growled. “Besides, I don’t need a nickname. Enjolras will do just fine.”

Grantaire just shrugged again. “Suit yourself.” He looked out the window and instantly thought better of it, the cityscape blurring into countryside as they sped away at dangerously high speeds. He swallowed hard and looked back up at the ceiling. “So you’re the son of a Greek god. I imagine that’s made your life pretty interesting.”

Thankfully, Enjolras seemed to realize that Grantaire was trying to distract himself and nodded. “Interesting is one word for it,” he told Grantaire, drumming his fingers almost absentmindedly against the gray leather seat. “Aphrodite has been sending me after a bunch of monsters recently, so that’s been...fun.”

“Is she punishing you?” Grantaire asked, since there was no other reason he could think of for why a mother would send her son after a bunch of dangerous monsters.

Enjolras shrugged. “Either that or she’s trying to be nice to me for a change,” he told Grantaire. “Normally I’m at camp all summer, but being sent to hunt monsters has gotten me out of camp, which is a refreshing change of pace. And it’s given me plenty of practice with my spear and dagger.”

Though Grantaire nodded, that latest revelation wasn’t exactly helping Grantaire keep his mind off of the eight thousand impossible things he had witnessed in the past hour, things that threatened to unravel his very limited sanity, and he said quickly, “Tell me something normal about yourself. Anything that doesn’t involve gods or monsters or whatever else.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it, instead launching into a story about the trip he had taken with his dad and stepmom to Disney World when he was 8. Grantaire barely listened, but the soothing power in Enjolras’s voice forced him to relax slightly, and he leaned back, letting Enjolras’s voice wash over him. 

Grantaire normally took great care in not believing in anything, hoping for years that if he didn’t believe in the monsters, they might just disappear. He didn’t believe in myths or magic, and definitely didn’t believe in love at first sight. But watching Enjolras, seeing how his eyes lit up when he talked and the tingling warmth Grantaire felt in his stomach whenever Enjolras looked at him made Grantaire reconsider the whole love at first sight thing. Just as everything else that had happened to Grantaire was beginning to make him question the rest of his lack of belief.

“You know, I don’t believe in Greek gods,” he said conversationally, “which I realize seems strange, seeing as how I’m pretty sure I just met two of them. And I don’t believe in manticores, or in sphinxes or whatever else has been chasing me, but that hasn’t seemed to stop them. And really, it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Enjolras asked, taken aback.

“Yeah. You obviously don’t remember, but we met each other before.” Grantaire glanced over at Enjolras, who was frowning, and smiled slightly. “See, you don’t remember. We were taking the A train, about four weeks ago. You were the gorgeous blond, I was the rakish brunet. I accidentally sat on you when the train stopped suddenly. Really not ringing any bells?”

Enjolras stared out the window, his expression dark, but Grantaire thought Enjolras might be blushing slightly. “Sorry,” Enjolras said stiffly. “I don’t seem to recall.”

Grantaire grinned. “Well, well. Obviously you left far more of an impression than I did, but I suppose seeing how you’re a son of Aphrodite, that’s only to be expected.

Scowling again, Enjolras snapped, “Even if what you said happened did, how does that make any of this my fault?”

“Because ever since I accidentally sat in your lap on the A train in Manhattan, the monsters that I’ve seen for years started seeing me as well,” Grantaire said calmly. “Which I can only assume has something to do with you. And your possibly magical lap.”

A flurry of emotions flitted across Enjolras’s face before being replaced by his usual scowl, and he opened his mouth to retort when they were both slammed forward by the taxi coming to an abrupt halt. “Camp Half-Blood!” one of the Gray Sisters screeched, and Grantaire looked outside, his mouth falling open for a third time that day, because he was pretty sure that curled around the base of a massive pine tree at the top of the hill they had stopped at was a massive dragon.

Enjolras opened the car door and slowly stepped outside, squinting at the sunlight that dappled the hill, then turned back toward Grantaire, his expression serious. “I don’t know if this is going to work,” he warned, leading Grantaire up the hill toward the dragon, which appeared to be asleep. “Mortals aren’t allowed beyond the camp boundaries, but my mom did give you her blessing. Let’s hope that will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?” Grantaire asked, eying the dragon nervously.

“Peleus will probably eat you,” Enjolras said, nodding towards the dragon, and when Grantaire whirled around, panicked, he laughed lightly. “Sorry, bad joke. You just won’t be able to enter the camp boundaries.” He stopped, holding out his arm to catch Grantaire before he took another step forward. “This is it,” he warned, stepping over what must have been an invisible line and turning back to Grantaire. “Try to step over the line.”

Feeling foolish, Grantaire stepped forward. Nothing happened. The dragon didn’t even shift in his sleep. For a brief moment, Enjolras looked almost disappointed, then shook his head. “Well, Aphrodite’s blessing seems to be working. I’d better get you to Chiron.”

He started down the hill, then stopped, suddenly smiling at Grantaire, though there was something almost a little shy in his smile. “Oh, and welcome to Camp Half-Blood.”


	3. The Goddess at the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In its original iteration, this chapter and the next were actually one chapter, but it got so long that I had to cut them into two. As such, not a whole lot happens in this chapter, but you get some much-needed backstory. I also played with putting the flashback elsewhere in the fic (even opening the fic with it), but I think it works best here in terms of further developing E and R's relationship to this point.

Grantaire was getting pretty tired of his mouth falling open in shock every five minutes, but this camp was  _ amazing _ . The camp spread all the way down to the water and had a sprawling wood, dozens of buildings done in ancient Greek architecture, and a huge farmhouse. “This...this…” Grantaire stammered, almost tripping over himself as he followed Enjolras down the hill. 

“Yeah, I know,” Enjolras said with a laugh. “I had the same exact reaction when I got to camp for the first time four years ago, and honestly, I still do when I come back each summer.”

“Each summer?” Grantaire asked, managing to get both his voice and his legs back under control. “You’re only here in the summer?”

Enjolras nodded, though he was scanning the camp like he was looking for someone. “I go to school in New York and then I’m here at winter and summer breaks. Some campers stay year-round, but a lot of the year-rounders have started going to Camp Jupiter instead.”

Feeling like his constant state of being for the next several weeks was going to be asking questions, Grantaire sighed before asking, “Camp Jupiter?”

“It’s...kind of the same as Camp Half-Blood,” Enjolras hedged. “Except it’s Roman instead of Greek.” He gave Grantaire a sideways glance, something in his expression souring. “They actually take and train mortals, which makes me wish you’d met Venus instead of Aphrodite.”

Grantaire’s knowledge of Greek and Roman deities was spotty, but even he recognized Venus. “Aren’t they the same goddess?” he asked.

Enjolras shrugged. “Yes. And no.” He didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, instead turning to frown at Grantaire. “I have to go find Chiron. You should wait…” He trailed off, glancing around for a good central meeting place, then pointed at a huge stone fire pit in the middle of a common area that stretched between an odd assortment of cabins. “There. I’ll bring Chiron to you. Try not to get into any trouble.”

“How much trouble can I possibly be?” Grantaire protested. 

Enjolras just looked skeptically at him. “Today alone you’ve attracted the attention of a manticore and the goddess of love which is more than most mortals can say for their entire lives. Forgive me for thinking trouble might just follow you.” He pointed at the fire pit again and commanded, “Go.”

Under normal circumstances, Grantaire would have chafed against such a command, even when it came with a sort of power from Enjolras. But more than whatever power there was in Enjolras’s voice, Grantaire was more concerned with the strain he heard there, and the look in Enjolras’s eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled, slouching toward the fire pit, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he went.

He couldn’t stay irritated for long, and not just because Enjolras was too hot for Grantaire to be mad at him — there was so much to  _ see _ at this camp. Each new cabin he passed was even more bizarre and interesting than the last, and that was nothing compared to the creatures he saw milling about  — satyrs and pegasi and in the distance, what looked like a rhinoceros-sized dog. He had half a million questions and wanted to get a closer look at, well, just about everything, but like an obedient school boy, he stopped at the fire pit, crossing his arms and sighing as he settled in to wait for Enjolras and this mysterious Chiron.

All of the fascinating architecture couldn't keep his interest for long, though, and he found himself zoning out and thinking back on a memory from four weeks ago, the same memory he seemed to return to again and again, often at the worst possible time: the first time he met Enjolras, or at the very least, fell into his lap.

He had been taking the A train downtown with no particular destination in mind. He enjoyed riding the subway and people-watching, often sketching the more peculiar humans that he saw (he ignored the monsters because everyone else did. It was New York  — humans had more important things to worry about).

On that particular day, he had only just settled into a seat when across the way, Enjolras had slumped into a seat. He wasn't wearing an orange t-shirt then, but he had been wearing a red hoodie, the hood pulled up to mostly cover his golden curls, though a few curled rebelliously at the edges of his hood.

Grantaire had thought even then that this was the most attractive dude he had ever seen in his life, and his stomach had done a series of acrobatics that had nothing to do with the swaying of the train. With fumbling fingers he flipped to a fresh sheet in his sketchbook, determined to get down at least the guy's likeness, since the chances of seeing him again were slim to none.

But he had only managed to sketch the outline, the hint of curls and the faintest impression of the blond's stormy eyes when the train drew to a stop at the next station and people flooded on. The guy was lost to view and Grantaire gave up his seat to a pregnant woman. 

Once he stood, though, he had realized he could use this to his advantage, shifting closer to where the blond had been sitting. He did it slowly, partially because he didn't want to seem like a creep and partially because the train car was full of people. He had only just made it to where he thought the guy should be sitting when the train slammed to a sudden halt.

People went flying, which ordinarily would have been cause for much hilarity, except that Grantaire went flying as well, stumbling straight into the gorgeous blond's lap.

Automatically, Grantaire had reached out to steady himself as he fell, which was how he ended up with one hand resting lightly on the dude's chest, on top of a surprisingly solid pectoral muscles, as his other arm slung itself around his neck. "Um," Grantaire said, too stunned by both what had just happened and his luck that he had landed where he did to come up with a complete sentence. "Hi."

To his surprise, the blond had managed a half-smile as he returned, "Hi."

"Oh man, I am so sorry," Grantaire babbled, trying without luck to extricate himself from his lap. Their legs were tangled and he squirmed uncomfortably, only to almost fall over again when the train lurched forward.

The blond reached out automatically, wrapping an arm around Grantaire's waist to stop him from pitching over, and Grantaire felt himself blush a color that probably matched the guy's bright red hoodie. He looked up to meet the his eyes, realizing only then that their faces were mere inches apart, and that his hand was still splayed across the guy's chest.

He had expected him to be mad, or at least a little irritated, but instead, he had worn an expression that Grantaire couldn't quite place at the time. Curiosity, maybe, with a hint of...frustration?

But the moment had broken far too soon, before Grantaire could ask for the guy's name or phone number or life story, the train shuddering to a halt at the next station and the blond telling him, his voice pitched low, "This is my stop."

Then, in a show of strength that left Grantaire quite astonished, the blond had somehow managed to stand, still holding Grantaire, and set him down on the seat before disappearing into the crowd.

It had been one of the best moments of his life to date, and he had spent an astonishing amount of time painting and sketching the blond from memory (though having met Enjolras again, he had to admit his sketches did little to actually capture his likeness). But now, standing in the middle of a summer camp and having just met two Greek gods, Grantaire was beginning to get a feeling that he was going to curse that moment in the days and weeks to come.

Shaking his head to clear it, he glanced around, surprised  to see a young girl sitting on the ground next to the fire pit, poking at the coals. She looked about nine years old at most, but she was tending the fire as if she’d been doing it for years. “Um, hi,” Grantaire said, for lack of anything else to say to a kid.

The girl looked up at him and smiled. Her eyes seemed to glow with the warmth of the fire, and Grantaire couldn’t help but smile and relax a little in response. “You can sit, you know,” the girl told him, gesturing to the grass next to her. “Are you hungry?”

For the first time all day, Grantaire realized that he was, and he nodded as he sank to the ground. “Yeah, actually, I...” He trailed off as the girl waved a hand and an entire picnic appeared out of nowhere. “Um, thanks?”

The girl’s smile widened, and Grantaire realized that her eyes weren’t just reflecting the flames but instead were made up of the red fire. For some reason, the realization wasn’t that scary, though maybe Grantaire had just dealt with so much weird things that day that he just didn’t have it in him to be surprised at that point. “Please, Grantaire, eat,” she told him, her high-pitched voice clear and even. “You’ll need to keep your strength up for what lies ahead.”

Though Grantaire had started to reach for the impressive array of food, he faltered at that. “You’re...you’re a goddess, aren’t you?” he said, more resigned than suspicious, though he was tempted to ask why a goddess looked like a kid. “What do you mean, for what lies ahead?”

Inclining her head slightly, the girl told him, “I am Hestia, goddess of hearth and home and tender of the home fire, including this one here.” She gestured toward the cheerfully flickering fire. “As for what lies ahead, I am afraid I do not know your fate. The power of foresight is not one of my gifts. But I have seen other mortals that share your gift.” She paused before adding, slightly ominously, “Or curse, depending on how one looks at it.”

“Curse?” Grantaire squeaked, his voice about an octave higher than usual. 

Hestia nodded. “Oh yes, it can be, but that shouldn’t stop your appetite.” She picked up a tray of sandwiches and smiled warmly at Grantaire as if all mentions of a curse had been forgotten. “Now, can I interest you in a sandwich?”


	4. Answers and Questions

Hestia’s smile was wide as she offered the tray of sandwiches. Under different circumstances, Grantaire might be tempted, and his stomach even gave a traitorous rumble. But right now, he had more important things to worry about than delicious-looking sandwiches.

“How about you interest me in some answers,” he told her, his voice still not returned to its usual pitch. “Namely, what do you mean,  _ curse _ ?”

“Surely you must have realized by now,” Hestia told him gently, setting the tray of sandwiches down. “You can see what other mortals can’t. Throughout history, there have always been clear-sighted mortals. You are one of them. As for whether it’s a gift or a curse, well, I believe that has more to do with what you do with it than anything else.”

Grantaire snorted. “Sure feels like a curse today,” he grumbled, thinking about everything he had been through just that day alone.

Hestia cocked her head slightly. “Do you really believe that?” she asked, picking up a plate of cookies and offering them rather insistently to Grantaire. “You finally are getting answers, and that’s more than some in your situation ever get.”

Grantaire took a cookie and bit into it, trying to enjoy the delicious taste while still glaring at Hestia suspiciously. “I’m hardly getting answers, just more questions,” he told her bitterly, his mouth full of cookie, and he swallowed. “I still have no idea what’s going on or why I’m here. The only thing that I’ve been told is that, somehow, the Greek gods and goddesses are, well, real, and that hasn’t helped solve any of my problems.”

Nodding, Hestia picked up a platter of muffins and offered them to Grantaire next. “It may not have solved your problems, but it is the beginning of any answers you will get. The gods and goddesses, my kin, are indeed real. What you might call ‘Western Civilization’ is more than just an abstract concept, and the gods are an active part of it. As Western civilization has grown and moved from country to country, so too have the gods. And so too have the monsters, which you’ve seen. America is the power of the West, the heart of the flame of civilization.”

“And so you’re here,” Grantaire finished, swallowing the last of his muffin. “And I imagine Mount Olympus is here somewhere.”

He felt calmer than he thought he would at the realization, since it still didn’t solve any of his problems, but to be honest, it was almost a relief, understanding why he saw what he did. He wasn’t crazy, or at least, wasn’t crazy because of what he saw. Gods existed and maybe that should have blown his mind, but if they all baked like Hestia seemed to be able to, maybe it wasn’t all bad.

Hestia smiled again. “Yes, Olympus is here. And I am here. Olympus is my home, and I tend its fires no matter where it ends up.” Her smile softened slightly as she regarded Grantaire with her warm red eyes. “But you haven’t felt like you’ve had a home in years, have you? And that is the other part of the curse you bear  — you are always between two worlds, but never quite part of either.”

"You speak as if you understand what it's like," Grantaire said, a little accusingly, because what goddess could possibly understand what this felt like?

Hestia shrugged fluidly. "You might say that I do." She fixed her warm red eyes on Grantaire, and he could have sworn he saw the flames in them leap higher as she continued, "I am Hestia First and Last. First born and eldest of my godly siblings, and the first eaten by our father Kronos." Grantaire vaguely remembered the myth  —  well, obviously not  _ myth _ anymore  — about the titan Kronos eating his children. "And because I was eaten first, I was last to be regurgitated by Kronos, thus reentering the world as last and least." She shrugged again, ignoring the look on Grantaire's face like he might puke at the thought of a titan throwing up his kids. "First and last. Oldest and youngest. Both and neither, all at once."

Though Grantaire managed to get his nausea under control, his coloring hadn't quite come back when he countered, "But you do have a home, a place to belong. On Mount Olympus."

"A home, yes, but you will find for me there no throne, as I gave up my position for Dionysus. Just as you will find for me no cabin here." Her voice sounded sad for a moment, and she turned to look at the fire pit. "Last and least of the Olympians, forgotten save for my flames."

Grantaire was tempted to offer her a hug, or something, because even though she was a goddess who could probably incinerate at him, at the moment she just looked like a sad little kid. But before he could even offer, Hestia's warm smile came back and she looked back at Grantaire. "But my point is, I do understand what it is like to never quite belong."

“So that’s it,” Grantaire said, a little bitterly, staring into the coals at the bottom of the fire pit. “Even though I have answers, I still don’t have a place where I belong.”

“Not yet,” Hestia said, standing, and the picnic disappeared with another wave of her hand. “But I think if you play your cards correctly, Grantaire Durand, you may just find a home for yourself. As I did.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to ask more, but he was cut off by Enjolras calling his name. Distractedly, he glanced over his shoulder at Enjolras, who was accompanied by a young man in his early twenties and a centaur. Grantaire turned back around to find that Hestia had disappeared. “Typical,” he grumbled.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras called again, jogging up to him. “I want to introduce you to some people.” He gestured at the centaur, and Grantaire blinked, unsure how to respond to a half-man, half-horse. “This is Chiron, our camp’s activity director.”

Chiron regarded Grantaire carefully. “You don’t seem surprised that I’m a centaur,” he said, offering Grantaire his hand, which Grantaire cautiously shook, a rueful smile flitting across his face.

“Truth be told, sir, you’re not the strangest person I’ve met today.”

The guy on Enjolras’s other side laughed, though he hastily turned it into a cough. “And I’m Percy,” he told Grantaire, shaking his hand. “Percy Jackson. I’m temporarily filling in as sword instructor before I leave on a deep sea fishing trip with my dad.”

His green eyes gleamed with an unspoken joke, and Grantaire glanced at the tattoo on Percy’s forearm, which had a trident symbol under the letters SPQR. “Son of Poseidon?” he guessed, smirking slightly. “Must be a hell of a deep sea fishing trip.”

Percy grinned, making eye contact with Chiron behind Enjolras’s back. “I like him,” he pronounced. “Even if he is…”

He trailed off, and Grantaire’s smile fell. “Even if I’m a mortal,” he said dully. “Well, we can’t all be sons of Poseidon. Or Aphrodite. Or…” He trailed off, glancing at Chiron. “Or a palomino.”

Chiron pawed the ground with his front hooves and it took a moment for Grantaire to realize he was amused. “Indeed, if we didn’t know that you were mortal, I would suspect you were a demigod,” Chiron told him. “You share a certain...wit in the face of adversity.” His expression turned serious. “But you are not a demigod, and if it were not for this — ” He waved the note from Aphrodite. “ — I would be inclined to politely remove you from camp. But we cannot ignore a direct request from a goddess, no matter how...unorthodox.”

He handed the note back to Enjolras, whose expression was carefully neutral. Grantaire got the feeling that Enjolras wanted to say something, but was biting his tongue. “Ordinarily, travelers stay in Cabin 11, but circumstances being what they are, I think it’s best that you lodge at the Big House,” Chiron told him, waving toward the blue farmhouse. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t rely on the hospitality of Cabin 11 for something else.” He glanced over at Enjolras. “Do you think Courfeyrac could show Grantaire around camp?”

Enjolras frowned. “I can show Grantaire — ” he started, but Percy shook his head.

“No, we need to talk.” He glanced over at Grantaire, a little sheepish. “Alone.”

Grantaire held both his hands up. “Don’t worry, I know when I’m not wanted,” he groused, though he glanced at Enjolras out of the corner of his eye. He too had wanted Enjolras to be the one to give him a tour of camp, if for remarkably different reasons. Being around Enjolras was almost intoxicating; being around a bunch of demigod strangers was sobering Grantaire up in more regards than one. “Can I just have a quick word with Enjolras?”

Chiron and Percy exchanged glances but moved a few paces away, giving Grantaire and Enjolras their privacy. Enjolras was scowling again, and Grantaire tried not to take it personally. “Look,” he said, his voice low, “I don’t know what I’m doing here or what’s going on but...I didn’t ask for this. I was doing just fine on my own with the monsters and things. I just...I want you to know that.”

Enjolras looked surprised. “I know,” he said automatically, then shook his head slightly. “I mean, I figured. My mom…” His expression twisted. “She has an interesting sense of humor and I’m holding out hope that this is one of her little jokes.”

Grantaire smiled weakly. “The goddess of love, playing a joke involving me. Wow, don’t I feel special.” 

“You probably should,” Enjolras said, ignoring Grantaire’s sarcasm. “It's not everyday that Aphrodite pays attention to mortals. But I somehow doubt you were doing just fine on your own with the monsters.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Are you doubting my abilities? Look, I may not be a superhero or a demigod or anything special, but us mortals  — we’re stronger than we seem.”

For just a moment, Enjolras grinned, a genuine smile like nothing Grantaire had yet seen from Enjolras, and if he hadn’t been rapidly falling in love — or at least lust— with him before, well, this certainly wasn’t helping his cause. “Now  _ that _ I do believe,” Enjolras said.

Then his grin faded and Grantaire felt like a cloud had covered the sun. “But even so. Things aren’t always what they seem, and for you to be singled out by Aphrodite...I don’t like it.”

His tone was far too serious for Grantaire’s liking, and Grantaire tried for a joke to lighten the mood. “Hey, it wasn’t so terrible for me,” he joked, but Enjolras didn’t smile, and Grantaire sighed. He took a deep breath. “Look, I just...I have so many questions—”

“As do I, and believe me, I want answers just as badly as you,” Enjolras told him, and Grantaire could again hear the strain in his voice. “But I don’t know how long it’s going to take to find them. I have a feeling that there’s something more going on here.”

He sounded worried, and without thinking, Grantaire reached down to grab Enjolras’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Well, as long as you’re with me, Adonis, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

Enjolras stared down at their hands, his expression like ice, and Grantaire quickly dropped his hand, blushing. When Enjolras looked back up at him, there was no warmth in his expression, and his scowl had been replaced by something far worse, a look of cold fury. “I don’t need your help,” he said icily. “I’ll figure things out for myself.”

With that, he turned and walked to where Chiron and Percy were waiting, leaving Grantaire staring after him, hurt mingled with defiance in his expression. Part of him wanted to shout something childish and petulant at Enjolras’s retreating back  — part of him didn’t want to make things worse. Just when he had thought he was getting through to Enjolras, making progress cracking through that marble facade, he had to go screw it up.

He was so engrossed in watching Enjolras walk away that he didn’t even notice as someone joined him, only whirling around when the guy cleared his throat. “Grantaire?” he asked, extending a hand for Grantaire to shake and pushing brown curls out of his face with his other hand. His smile was warm and a little impish, and Grantaire couldn’t help but relax slightly, though he couldn’t quite find it in himself to smile back. “My name is Courfeyrac, and it looks like I’ve been recruited to be your tour guide.”


	5. The Tour of Camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added 'gender or sex swap' as a tag because as you'll see in this chapter and the one to follow, there's a few familiar faces from Les Mis with different gender identities than canon. Mostly I did this because Les Mis is incredibly male-dominated, and I wanted there to be just a few more female characters in this. I know 'genderbending' is both a problematic word and concept (gender being performative and not necessarily related to physical presentation), so I'm hoping this tag will suffice, but if you need or want me to add a tag, please just let me know!

Grantaire shook his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, a little distractedly, watching as Enjolras disappeared into the Big House with Percy and Chiron. Then he shook his head and focused back on Courfeyrac. “Um, not sure if this is proper protocol, but who’s your godly parent?”

Courfeyrac laughed. “I’m not sure there is a proper protocol established for a mortal to be here, let alone to be asking questions, so you’re fine. My dad is Hermes, god of thieves and travelers, and messenger of the gods. That’s probably why they wanted me to show you around  — we in Cabin 11 are a hospitable bunch.”

“Cabin 11?” Grantaire asked.

Nodding, Courfeyrac waved a hand towards the cabins that lined the field around them. “Yeah, the cabins are each dedicated to a different god or goddess, and their demigod children stay in the corresponding cabin while they’re here. We’ll start with Zeus and Hera and work our way down.”

He pointed to the two cabins at the far end of the field and they both headed in that direction. Grantaire looked over at Courfeyrac, looking him up and down. “You don’t have a tattoo like Percy,” he observed, matching Courfeyrac’s stride as they walked. “Nor does Enjolras.”

Courfeyrac glanced sideways at him. “Good eye,” he said, impressed. “Then again, you can see through the Mist, so perhaps that’s not surprising. The tattoo that Percy has comes from the time he spent with the Romans. None of the Greek demigods have them. Percy’s...is kind of a long story. But you’ll meet our friend Bossuet and you can see his. He’s from the Roman camp but he’s out here studying law.”

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. “A law student? That’s so...boring.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “For a mortal, maybe. But in addition to regular law, Bossuet’s studying the ancient and sacred laws. He’s a son of Ceres, the Roman version of Demeter and patron and protector of laws and rights. He studies on Mount Olympus in the evenings and does one week a year in the Underworld.”

“What’s he studying in the Underworld?”

“Contract law.”

They drew to a stop near the two largest cabins, gleaming mausoleum-style buildings labelled with a brass ‘1’ and ‘2’. “Those are for Zeus and Hera,” Courfeyrac said. “Hera’s is always empty, of course. Goddess of marriage and all. We haven’t had a Zeus camper in a couple years, not since Jason Grace started college out in California. He’s been spending his summers at Camp Jupiter.”

They slowly moved down the field as Courfeyrac continued, “Next is Poseidon, and across the way is Demeter.” The Poseidon cabin was shorter and longer than either Zeus’s or Hera’s, and Demeter’s cabin had all sorts of plants growing on it and what looked like a grass roof. 

“Number 5 is Ares,” Courfeyrac said, and Grantaire automatically bristled, remembering the god who had ticked him off so much. There was a girl lounging outside the glaringly red Ares cabin who looked just as big and mean as her father, and Grantaire glared at her, deciding automatically that he didn’t like her.

To his surprise, when she looked up at them, she smiled and waved, calling, “Hey Courf!”

Grantaire looked at Courfeyrac. “Friend of yours?”

“Oh yeah, Bahorel’s great,” Courfeyrac told him enthusiastically, beckoning the girl over. “Bahorel, this is Grantaire.” Grantaire shook her hand, expecting her to crush his hand in her massive ones, but her handshake was surprisingly gentle. “Grantaire had the, uh, good fortune of meeting your dad a little earlier today.”

Bahorel winced. “Oh man, sorry about that,” she laughed. “I know what he can be like. I didn’t quite inherit everything from him, though he did pass on a mean right hook.” She winked at Grantaire, who managed a smile. “And he gave me a love for fighting, though I prefer to fight for fun rather than, you know, to the death. And it’s not fun if you’re constantly picking on people who can’t fight back, at least in my opinion.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “As you can tell, Bahorel is the least Ares kid of basically all time.”

Growling slightly, Bahorel drew herself up to her full, impressive height, glowering down at Courfeyrac. “Ok, firstly, I can still kick your butt at any time. Secondly, I like to fight for fun, and I like to have fun, which means I fight literally all the time. If that doesn’t make me a daughter of Ares, I’m not sure what does. Thirdly, those are awfully big words coming from a son of Hermes who doesn’t like to steal.”

“Hermes is more than just the god of thieves,” Courfeyrac protested. “Hermes is the patron of travelers, and I try to embody the practice of xenia by being welcoming and hospitable to guests, thus honoring my father without having to resort to larceny.”

“Whatever,” Bahorel said, sticking her tongue out at him. She pointed over Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “Your boyfriend is waiting, by the way. You might want to go say hi before he gets all jealous of the new kid you’re hanging out with.” She looked Grantaire up and down. “You’re built like a boxer  — do you fight?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I took boxing in school,” he said, though he quickly added, “but, uh, I don’t mean that as an invitation.”

Bahorel laughed, though her eyes gleamed. “I haven’t boxed in a while. It’d be good to get back into it.” She winked at Grantaire. “If you stick around for awhile, maybe I’ll see you in the arena.” She gave Grantaire a high-five, slugged Courfeyrac on the arm, and went back inside Cabin 5.

Grantaire glanced at Courfeyrac. “Um, was that her idea of flirting?” he asked.

Laughing, Courfeyrac grabbed Grantaire’s wrist to pull him across the field toward Cabin 6. “No, though it was her idea of being friendly. You’re not exactly Bahorel’s type.” He frowned at Grantaire. “And I thought you...I mean, given the way you looked at Enjolras…”

Grantaire flushed about the same color as the Ares cabin. “I like guys and girls,” he muttered, looking down at the ground.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Courfeyrac said, though there was something relieved in his tone. “I didn’t mean to pressure you or something. You don’t have to talk about it, though it honestly may be the most Greek thing about you.” Grantaire started to ask a question but Courfeyrac shook his head. “The person you’ll want to direct that question to is my boyfriend.” There was a little thrill in Courfeyrac’s voice when he said the word boyfriend, and Grantaire figured it was a recent situation. “Combeferre’s in Cabin 6  — son of Athena. He did his junior year thesis on sexuality in Ancient Greece.”

“You’re dating a college student?” Grantaire asked, surprised, because Courfeyrac looked about his age.

Courfeyrac laughed. “No, junior in high school. He goes to this progressive college prep school because he’s a massive nerd.” The fondness in his tone was evident in the way he said nerd. “Nerdiness aside, I’m sure you’ll like him. He’s a good guy, and he’s Enjolras’s best friend.” He paused, then added, “Well, besides me, anyway.”

Enjolras’s best friend. Grantaire had to admit that he was intrigued to see what kind of person Enjolras would have as a best friend. Even though he had known him for a only a few hours, it bothered Grantaire that he couldn’t figure the him out, the guy vacillating between fire and ice with basically no in-between. Meeting Courfeyrac hadn’t cleared much of anything up  — Courfeyrac was bubbly and cheerful and warm, but above all, seemed incredibly normal. Perhaps meeting Enjolras’s other best friend might establish a frame of reference that would help explain Enjolras.

At first glance, Combeferre wasn’t much to look at, lounging on the grass, a book open in front of him. He had sandy blond hair and a nice smile, but that was about it. Then, as he stood to shake Grantaire’s hand, he gave Grantaire a head-to-toe glance, calculation gleaming in his eyes, and Grantaire understood that while Combeferre didn’t look like much, he would be dangerous to cross.

Not that Grantaire had any intention of crossing him. But...just in case.

Courfeyrac slung an arm around Combeferre’s shoulder and kissed his cheek before telling Grantaire, a little unnecessarily, “Grantaire, this my boyfriend. Boyfriend, this is Grantaire.”

“You really don’t have to introduce me as your boyfriend,” Combeferre muttered, the back of his neck flushing red, though he also gave Grantaire a sheepish smile. “You can just call me Combeferre.”

Grantaire tilted his head. “I don’t know, I kind of like the sound of ‘Courfeyrac’s boyfriend’. It really rolls off the tongue. You should embrace it.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes and hmphed at Courfeyrac. “Did you put him up to this?”

“No, he just has exceptionally good taste,” Courfeyrac said smugly, kissing Combeferre’s cheek again. “Anyway, I’m not sure if you’ve heard through the camp grapevine already, but — ”

“ — Grantaire’s the mortal who can see through the Mist that Enjolras brought to camp on the orders of Aphrodite?” Combeferre finished. “Yeah, I’ve heard.” He gave Grantaire a searching look. “So you can see through the Mist?”

That was the second time someone had said something about Grantaire being able to see through the Mist, and he had a feeling they weren’t referring to foggy weather conditions. “Uh, I guess?” he said, pitching his response as a question more than an answer. “I don’t really know what this ‘mist’ is, but I’ve always been able to see monsters and such.”

Combeferre seemed to straighten, his eyes gleaming, and Grantaire inwardly groaned, recognizing the beginning of an academic lecture when he saw one. “Then Diomed prayed, saying, ‘Hear me, daughter of aegis-bearing Jove, grant me to come with a spear’s throw of that man and kill him.’ Thus he prayed, and Pallas Minerva heard him. Then she went up close to him and said, ‘Fear not, Diomed, to do battle with the Trojans. I have withdrawn the veil from your eyes, that you know gods and men apart.’  _ The Iliad _ , Book V,” Combeferre quoted, a little smugly. “That’s not the only reference to a veil or mist that covers the eyes of men, but one of the easiest to understand.”

“What, you just have  _ The Iliad _ memorized?” Grantaire asked, impressed in spite himself.

Courfeyrac snorted, though the look he gave Combeferre was fond. “Like I said, nerd.”

“It was more of a paraphrase than a direct quote,” Combeferre told them, though Grantaire noticed that he didn’t deny the other charge. “ _ The Iliad _ is only one source, but from the beginning of time, there has always been a veil between the immortal, which would be gods, titans, monsters, and so on, and the mortal world. We call that veil the Mist, which also refers to magic woven by Hecate to keep humans out of godly affairs. But as long as there has been the Mist, there have also been humans who have been able to see through the Mist.”

Though Grantaire nodded slowly, his mind was whirling in a thousand different directions. So he could see through the Mist  — no wonder Hestia had said that he was not quite a part of either world. He looked away from Courfeyrac and Combeferre, who continued their conversation, not noticing that Grantaire had totally stopped paying attention. He looked at the rest of the cabins without really seeing them, absently picking out which cabins belonged to which gods. Cabin 7 and 8, Apollo and Artemis respectively. Cabin 9, Hephaestus. Cabin 10  — his throat constricted and he looked away from it, filled with sudden, inexplicable longing.

Cabin 10 had to belong to Aphrodite, to  _ Enjolras _ , and for the first time what Hestia had told him really sank in. He wasn’t part of this world, wasn’t a demigod with a cabin waiting for him. He might be able to stand here and look at the Aphrodite cabin, he might even rank enough to be here in camp because of Aphrodite’s blessing, but he didn’t belong here.

He didn’t belong with Enjolras.

It was a stupid thought  — it wasn’t like he  _ knew _ Enjolras, other than a chance meeting a few weeks back and the few hours he’d spent with him today  — but it seemed to grip his heart like a vice nonetheless. No wonder Enjolras had lashed out when Grantaire had grabbed his hand earlier — who would want to hold hands with or even be seen with someone useless him him, who didn't belong in either world?

He only left his pity party to come back to the conversation when he heard Enjolras’s name mentioned casually by Courfeyrac. “—I mean, you know how Enjolras feels about prophecies.”

“Prophecies?” Grantaire asked, his voice rough.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances, and Grantaire had the sudden feeling that they were having a silent conversation. Probably about him. “It’s nothing,” Combeferre said, a warning in his tone, both to Grantaire, to tell him not to push it, and to Courfeyrac, to tell him not to say anything else. “Courfeyrac said you had some questions about sexuality in Ancient Greece?”

Combeferre’s tone was eager, but Grantaire could tell there was more he wasn’t saying, and he glanced at Courfeyrac, whose expression was curiously blank. “Courfeyrac is supposed to be showing me camp,” he hedged, and Combeferre shook his head, about to respond when a horn blew in the distance.

“Well, would you look at the time,” Courfeyrac said brightly. “It looks like we’re going to have to hold off on this  _ fascinating _ conversation.”

“And why’s that?” Grantaire asked warily, trailing behind Combeferre and Courfeyrac as they started towards an open-air pavilion he could just see beyond the line of the cabins.  
  
Courfeyrac swiveled to give him a huge smile. “Because it’s dinner time.”


	6. Dinner with the Demigods

Combeferre stayed at Cabin 6, assumedly to head to the dining pavilion with his cabin mates  — his siblings, Grantaire realized, a little belatedly, wondering how weird it must be to find out that you were a demigod and had a bunch of half-siblings. 

He trailed after Courfeyrac, who led him to meet up with the rest of the campers from Cabin 11. Grantaire was expecting them to all look like Courfeyrac, but none of them really did. The only thing the campers seemed to share was the same impish grin.

They all looked at Grantaire curiously, but Courfeyrac shook his head, clearly forestalling any questions, and the cabin fell in line to traipse over to the mess hall. Grantaire nudged Courfeyrac in the ribs. “There’s no roof,” he pointed out, a little stupidly. “What happens when it rains?”

“It doesn’t rain here unless we need it to,” Courfeyrac told him in an undertone. “The camp’s borders are magic  — they keep out monsters, bad weather, and mortals.”

As soon as he said it, he blanched, but Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Enjolras already told me when we were coming in. I’m kind of getting used to it.”

Courfeyrac shot him a tight smile. “Well, hopefully you’re getting used to meeting gods as well, because you’re about to meet our camp director.”

He nodded towards a short, porky man sitting at the head picnic table in the pavilion, sandwiched between Chiron standing on one side and a red-haired girl sitting on his other side. He looked almost bored as campers filed into the numerous picnic tables throughout the mess hall. He was wearing a lurid leopard-print Hawaiian shirt, and his chubby cheeks were flushed with what Grantaire recognized far too well as alcohol. He didn’t seem to be drinking any booze though, instead sipping from a can of Diet Coke.

“ _ That’s _ a god?” Grantaire asked, doubt clear in his voice. “Which one, the god of potbellies?”

“No, god of wine and madness, actually,” Courfeyrac said dryly.

Grantaire gaped at him. “ _ That’s _ Dionysus?” he asked, severely disappointed. Dionysus had always been one of his favorite gods, for obvious reasons. Grantaire’s predilection for alcohol had made him fond of the wine god when he first learned about the Olympians. He hadn’t imagined his favorite god looking like...well, like that.

He would have asked more, but his eye was caught by girls literally emerging from the lake and the trees, melting out of the wood like they lived there. Which they probably did. “Nymphs?” he guessed, eyes wide. “And...satyrs.”

There were a bunch of half-man, half-goats milling around, their shaggy hindquarters bare. Courfeyrac nodded, grinning. “Yeah, remind me to introduce you to Marius. He’s one of my best friends.” 

Nothing would’ve surprised Grantaire at that point, and he just shrugged, cramming his hands into his pockets as he watched the rest of Cabin 11 file over to their assigned picnic table. “So what happens now?”

Courfeyrac didn’t get a chance to answer. Instead, Chiron pounded his hoof against the marble floor of the pavilion for silence, and Courfeyrac tugged Grantaire into the center of the mess hall, in front of a huge bronze brazier, the flames flickering cheerfully at their backs. Dionysus barely glanced at them. “Ah yes, our  _ guest _ .” He said guest like it was a dirty word, and Grantaire flushed. “Well, Chiron tells me you’ll be sleeping at the Big House. As if I cared. As for where you eat, you’re here because of Aphrodite. It only makes sense you eat with her brood.”

Grantaire threw a look over his shoulder at the Aphrodite table, feeling the blood drain out of his face when he saw Enjolras staring at him, expressionless. As if sensing Grantaire’s thoughts, Courfeyrac took a step forward. “Um, Mr. D, while Grantaire is here because of Aphrodite, it only seems fitting that as a guest he spends at least his first meal here with the Hermes cabin. We offer our father’s hospitality.”

For a moment, something in Dionysus’s eyes flickered, and Grantaire couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down his spine at the flash of purple fire. But then he just waved his hand again. “Fine. Whatever.”

Courfeyrac grabbed Grantaire’s elbow and steered him back to Cabin 11’s table as Chiron again pounded his hoof against the floor. Courfeyrac and Grantaire scooted into the picnic table and joined the rest of the campers in raising their glasses and echoing Chiron’s toast: “To the gods!”

Dryads brought platters loaded with all kinds of food, and Courfeyrac nudged Grantaire, nodding towards his glass. “Tell the glass whatever you want to drink.”

Grantaire grinned and held his glass up. “Mm, how about a 2013 Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon?”

The glass remained stubbornly empty and Courfeyrac sniggered. “Nice try, but it has to be non-alcoholic.”

“Fine,” Grantaire sighed. “Mountain Dew will suffice.”

This time, the glass filled with neon green soda and Grantaire grinned. From there, he loaded his plate up with barbecue ribs, corn on the cob, cheese, bread and grapes. He was about to take a bite when he noticed that every other camper was carrying their plates toward the center of the pavilion and scraping a portion of their meal into the flames. “Burnt offerings?” he guessed, mostly joking, but Courfeyrac nodded.

“Yeah, they like the smell.” He led Grantaire up to the fire, and tossed a buttery roll into the cheerful flames. “To Hermes.”

Grantaire hesitated, wondering who he should offer his sacrifice to. But then he remembered the delicious cookies he had earlier in the day and grinned, scraping some mashed potatoes into the fire. “To Hestia,” he said, adding silently,  _ Thanks for the picnic earlier _ . 

Once they got back to their seats, they tucked in with gusto. “Hurry up and eat,” Courfeyrac told him between bites. “I want to introduce you to the rest of Les Amis before we go down to the campfire.”

“Les Amis?” Grantaire asked.

Courfeyrac nodded. “Lesh Ameesh de lah-bay-shay,” he lisped through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, then swallowed and repeated, “Les Amis de l’ABC. Means ‘Friends of the Abased’ in French. It’s an inter-cabin group founded by Enjolras. He takes it super seriously  — I mean, we all do, to an extent  — but Enjolras lives and breathes the Cause.”

Grantaire frowned. “The Abased?” he asked. “And which group of abased people exactly is your Cause aimed at helping?”

“I’ll let Enjolras explain,” Courfeyrac said brightly. “Now c’mon. We have to be stealthy  — we’re not really supposed to sit at tables other than our godly parents’.” Of course, Courfeyrac was probably one of the least stealthy people on the planet, but no seemed to notice when he walked Grantaire across the pavilion to Cabin 12’s table. Or else, Grantaire mused, glancing around, Courfeyrac just did this so often that no one cared. “Jeanne Prouvaire, darling, allow me to introduce Grantaire,” Courfeyrac announced, plopping down next to an auburn-haired girl who was one of only three occupants at the table. “Prouvaire, this is Grantaire. Grantaire, meet Jeanne Prouvaire, daughter of Dionysus and our resident expert in maenads.”

Jeanne extended a hand for Grantaire to shake, smiling in a slightly mysterious way as she looked him up and down. “Nice to meet you,” she said, and Grantaire shook her hand, but paused when he noticed the intricate serpent tattoo winding its way up her arm. 

“Dude, your tat is  _ sick _ ,” Grantaire said appreciatively. “But, uh, what’s a maenad?”

Jeanne’s smile widened. “A maenad is one of the female followers of my father, Dionysus. They work themselves into a frenzy through intoxication and commit blood sacrifices in his name.” Her eyes flickered to Courfeyrac. “Is he the one?” she asked.

Courfeyrac shrugged, giving Jeanne a wide smile. “Prouvaire, my dear, even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you that.”

She rolled her eyes and looked back over at Grantaire, her eyes glinting. “Well, I’ll look forward to seeing you around. And call me Jehan. Courfeyrac’s the only one who can get away with calling me Jeanne. And only because he won’t not.”

It was clearly a dismissal, and Courfeyrac and Grantaire rose from the table, heading diagonally across the pavilion towards Cabin 9’s table. Grantaire consciously avoided looking over at the Aphrodite table, not wanting to make eye contact with Enjolras. Instead, he quickened his pace to match Courfeyrac’s and asked him in a low tone, “So obviously the first twelve tables are for the twelve Olympians, but what about the rest of them?”

There were in fact far more than 12 tables in the pavilion, just as he had noticed far more than 12 cabins earlier. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know how many Greek gods and goddesses there are? We try to have a table and cabin for each, but man, the list keeps growing, I swear.” 

He drew to a halt in front of Cabin 9, which was made up of a bunch of burly kids with grease-stained clothes and calloused hands. Courfeyrac gestured emphatically towards the girl sitting on the end, a pageboy cap tugged low over her cropped hair. “This is Feuilly, daughter of Hephaestus and the only girl Enjolras has ever had a crush on,” Courfeyrac said, lowering his voice for the last part.

Grantaire’s heart seemed to drop to somewhere around his knees, but before he could say anything, Feuilly scowled up at Courfeyrac. “You can tell that to as many people as you want, but it’s not going to make it true.” She looked past him at Grantaire and offered her hand for him to shake. “Feuilly. Nice to meet you.”

Grantaire was surprised by how strong her grip was, especially compared to Bahorel’s gentle grip earlier  — Feuilly was probably about half her size but by the strength of her hand, you’d never have guessed it. “So what’s this about a crush?” Grantaire asked, fighting to keep his voice light.

Feuilly rolled her eyes. “Courfeyrac is convinced that Enjolras had a crush on me, but firstly, Enjolras likes girls about as much as I like boys, and secondly, apparently this asshole has never heard of platonic admiration. Dumbass.”

At Grantaire’s confused look, Courfeyrac sighed and reluctantly elaborated, “If Feuilly is to be believed, Enjolras simply thinks that she’s the bees’ knees, all because she managed to live with a foster family all alone and with no knowledge of her demigod status for years longer than most manage. Most demigods start attracting monsters by the time we hit twelve or thirteen, if not earlier, but Feuilly lived in the mortal world until her sixteenth birthday.”

Grantaire whistled appreciatively, but Feuilly looked unimpressed with herself. “Yeah, yeah,” she said gruffly, waving a dismissive hand. “Enjolras has a soft spot for the mortal world and admires demigods who can live there. Plain and simple. And no crush involved.” Conversation clearly ended, she looked at Grantaire with a critical eye. “If you’ll be sticking around camp, you’ll need a weapon. I’ll help you pick one out.”

“In addition to her many talents, Feuilly also helps make weaponry, along with the rest of her cabin,” Courfeyrac told Grantaire, saluting the Hephaestus kids, who all looked distinctly unimpressed with his theatrics. Grantaire just laughed and high-fived Feuilly before following Courfeyrac to table 7, the Apollo table.

Courfeyrac paused, his brow furrowed as he glanced at the assembled Apollo campers. “Where the heck — ” he started, before cutting himself off. “Of course.”

Without explanation, he turned to lead Grantaire across the pavilion to the Demeter table, where two guys were sitting at the far end, gazing into each others’ eyes in a way that made Grantaire want to vomit. “Here are the last two members of our gang,” Courfeyrac announced loudly, clearly wanting to break up the disgustingly cute staring as much as Grantaire. “This is Joly, camp medic and son of Apollo — ” The one with a full head of hair gave Grantaire a wave with his free hand, his other hand entwined with a balding man who could only be the final member of Les Amis “ — and his boyfriend is Bossuet, who I’ve mentioned before.”

“Son of Ceres, right?” Grantaire asked cautiously.

Bossuet beamed, letting go of Joly’s hand and standing up to shake Grantaire’s exuberantly. “That’s right, and I don’t know what Courf’s told you, but I promise all of it is true.” He gestured for Grantaire to sit down. 

Grantaire sat, but as he did, he sniffed the air, then glared accusingly at Courfeyrac. “I thought you told me no alcohol was allowed.”

“It’s not,” Joly answered, saving Courfeyrac with a grin. “But Bossuet’s over 21 and a Roman on top of it, so apparently the rules don’t apply to him.” His grin softened as he winked at his boyfriend. “I’ll be turning 21 in a few months and I’ll be fascinated to see if the rule still applies to me.”

“I didn’t realize you were so old,” Grantaire blurted, then blushed, realizing what he’d said. “I mean, uh, you don’t look like you’re in college.”

Joly just grinned, clearly taking no offense at what Grantaire had said. “Yeah, it’s an Apollo thing. The embodiment of youth and all that jazz.”

Grantaire glanced between Courfeyrac and Joly. “Is it usual to have college students at camp?” he asked, doubt evident in his voice. The only summer camp Grantaire had ever gone to had been occupied solely by junior high aged kids and staffed almost exclusively by bored high schoolers.

“It’s more common at Camp Jupiter,” Bossuet interjected. “Whole families live in New Rome.”

Though Grantaire nodded, he couldn’t imagine living at a summer camp year round. It sounded more like something out of a YA novel than reality. “So what do the rest of you do when you graduate high school?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “It, uh, it used to not be as big a concern,” he said, his voice far too casual, and none of the three seemed willing to make eye contact with Grantaire. “Lives of demigods are not known for their longevity, especially once we hit our teens.”

“But things are better now,” Joly rushed to add. “After Percy got the gods to start acknowledging their kids, more ended up here, and after we patched things up with Camp Jupiter, a lot more have gone out to California, too. Like Will, former head of the Apollo cabin. He went out to California to be with Nic — I mean, to go to school.”

Though Grantaire nodded automatically, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder at where Enjolras was sitting.  _ Not known for their longevity _ , Grantaire thought, swallowing hard. When he looked back, Joly was watching him with sympathetic eyes. “A lot of demigods make it well past their teens,” he assured Grantaire. 

“Yeah, but the ones who do normally aren’t the ones dying to get a quest,” Bossuet added, his tone cheerful despite his words.

As Joly smacked Bossuet lightly on the arm, Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he said loudly, in a let’s-not-talk-about-quests-in-front-of-the-moral tone of voice, “we should let Joly and Bossuet get back to their nausea-inducing lovefest. Besides, there’s one more person I need to introduce you to.”

“And who might that be?” Grantaire asked, standing.

Courfeyrac pointed at the red-haired girl sitting by herself at the head table. “Rachel Elizabeth Dare,” he told Grantaire. “Our camp’s oracle. And the only other mortal here besides you.”


	7. Of Prophecies and Quests

The red-haired girl didn’t look surprised when Courfeyrac led Grantaire up to her, but then again, she was supposedly an oracle, so Grantaire imagined it took a lot to surprise her. “It doesn’t quite work like that,” she told him in lieu of greeting, and Grantaire started.

“Are you omniscient or something?” he asked accusingly.

She laughed. “No, but I could tell what you were thinking by the look on your face.” She offered her hand. “My name is Rachel, as Courfeyrac has already told you.”

Grantaire shook her hand cautiously. “Yeah, and he said you were a mortal, but you seem, uh…”

“Remarkably well-adjusted?” Rachel finished, grinning. “Give it a few weeks and you’ll start to adjust too, once you realize that everything crazy that’s happened to you up to this point has an explanation now.”

Courfeyrac nudged Grantaire with his elbow and jerked his head back toward Joly and Bossuet, clearly intending on leaving Grantaire with Rachel, which only sort of terrified Grantaire. He glanced over at Rachel. “So you see things, huh?”

Rachel nodded, though something tightened in her face. “I do. Or rather, I did.” Grantaire frowned and she shook her head. “I know what you’re going to ask, and it’s a long story. Let’s just say Zeus had a falling out with Apollo, and I haven’t really had any visions since. Which means no demigod quests or anything like that. With Enjolras and the personal requests from Aphrodite being one of few exceptions.”

“Isn’t he always,” Grantaire muttered, though his mind was elsewhere. “So you haven’t seen anything?”

Rachel hesitated. “Well, I’ve been working with Ella the harpy on the Sibylline Books  — that is, books of prophecies, most of which haven’t yet happened. We’ve been working on interpreting them and there’ve been a few minor prophecies that I’ve managed to work out, but nothing major. Nothing that would explain...this.”

Though Grantaire nodded, he had only half-followed what she was talking about, and his expression fell slightly. “Meaning you’ve never seen anything about me in those texts,” he said in a low voice.

Rachel’s expression was sympathetic as she shook her head. “No, but that doesn’t mean anything,” she said bracingly. “There’s a bunch of prophecies that neither I nor Ella fully understand, and besides, just because you aren’t in a prophecy doesn’t mean anything. Without the Spirit of Delphi speaking through me, there’s way too much that I don’t know.”

Grantaire perked up slightly. “Spirit of Delphi?” he repeated. “I’m pretty sure Aphrodite mentioned something about the Spirit of Delphi when I met her.”

To his surprise, Rachel did not look happy at the news, instead glancing over Grantaire’s shoulder in what he was pretty sure was the direction of the Aphrodite table. “I’m sure she just said something that sounded similar,” she muttered. “Aphrodite wouldn’t dare...not after last time…”

She trailed off rather ominously, a dark look on her face, and Grantaire glanced behind him, thoroughly unsurprised to see Enjolras staring at them both, though he quickly looked away when Grantaire met his gaze. When Grantaire turned back around to Rachel, the dark look was gone, replaced by a pleasant smile. “You should get back to Courfeyrac,” she told him briskly. “You won’t want to be late for the campfire tonight. And don’t worry  — everything always has a way of working out in the end.”

Grantaire was tempted to ask if she was trying to convince him or herself, but just shrugged and wandered back toward the Demeter table, where Courfeyrac was waiting for him. “So that was...interesting,” Grantaire said, for lack of a better word to describe his meeting with Rachel.

“I can imagine,” Courfeyrac said, patting him on the shoulder. “But if it makes you feel better, Rachel’s like that with everyone, so it’s not just you.”

Though Grantaire nodded, he was still thinking about what Rachel had said. “She said something about Aphrodite,” he said, watching Courfeyrac’s reaction closely. “That she wouldn’t dare do anything regarding the Spirit of Delphi, not after last time. Do you know what she was talking about?” Courfeyrac suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes, and Grantaire pressed, “Does it have something to do with Enjolras, and a prophecy?”

Courfeyrac pretended like he didn’t hear him. “Oh, would you look at that,” he said loudly. “We should head down to the campfire. You’ll love it  — lots of singing, ghost stories, other fun things.”

“What in the world gives you the impression that I would love that?” Grantaire grumbled, but he was looking past Courfeyrac at where Enjolras was the last of the Aphrodite campers to stand up from the picnic table to head to the campfire. “You go to the campfire  — I’ll catch up with you in a second,” Grantaire told Courfeyrac before jogging over to intercept Enjolras. “Hey,” he said, drawing to a halt next to him.

“Hey,” Enjolras echoed, which Grantaire took as a good sign, since it meant Enjolras was actually talking to him again.

Grantaire jammed his hands into his pockets, casting around for a neutral subject to discuss. “So dinner was  — I mean, wow,” he stammered, a little nervously. “Are all your meals like that?”

Enjolras smiled slightly. “Yeah, pretty much,” he said, before cocking his head slightly and adding, “But I imagine you didn’t stop me to discuss the food.”

While part of Grantaire wanted to point out that really, he’d be happy to discuss absolutely anything with Enjolras if it meant getting to see him smile like that, he chose not to mention it. “Firstly, never underestimate my ability to talk about food, which may very well be my one true love in this world. Secondly, no, you’re right  — I was hoping we could talk.”

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Enjolras asked mildly, “Aren’t we already?”

“Touché.” Grantaire took a deep breath. “I still don’t know what’s going on here. I know you don’t know what’s happening either, but I have a feeling you know at least a little bit more than me.” Enjolras’s smile flickered slightly, and he almost looked a little embarrassed. Grantaire barrelled on. “I just have a feeling that all of this stuff that everyone keeps talking about, about gods and quests and prophecies and magic and whatever else, it all might make a little more sense coming from you.”

His words were lost on Enjolras, who stiffened at the word ‘prophecy’ and glared at Grantaire. “Who said anything about a prophecy?” he demanded, looking over Grantaire’s shoulder at Courfeyrac. “Was it Courf?”

Grantaire stared at him. “What?” he asked, baffled. “No, Courf didn’t say anything. I was just talking to Rachel, and — ”

Enjolras’s expression darkened at Rachel’s name. “Well, I don’t know  _ nearly _ as much as Rachel,” he said, his voice cold. “And even if I did, I doubt I would share it with you.”

With that said, he turned his back on Grantaire and stalked away, his shoulders set. Grantaire stared after him, not even noticing Courfeyrac at his side until he patted him on the shoulder. “I just don’t understand why he hates me,” Grantaire said, a little bitterly.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Courfeyrac said, so quickly that it sounded like a lie, and Grantaire scowled at him. “No, I mean  — Enjolras doesn’t know you well enough to hate you, and he’s not the kind of person who would just hate someone without good reason.” Grantaire continued to scowl at him, and Courfeyrac sighed. “He doesn’t hate you. Anything that’s going on with him right now  — it really has nothing to do with you.”

“You don’t know that,” Grantaire told him, feeling petulant.

Courfeyrac crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Actually, yeah, I do. Because the reason Enjolras...I mean, the reason that I know it has nothing to do with you is because it has everything to do with a prophecy, alright? So Enjolras doesn’t hate you or wish you were dead or whatever other ridiculous things you’re thinking right now.”

As much as Grantaire wanted to deny that he had been thinking anything like that, he couldn’t help but say, a little triumphantly, “So there  _ is _ something with a prophecy!”

Courfeyrac’s face turned red. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he started, but Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on, I’m a mortal, not an idiot.”

“You know, I’m not sure I’ve seen any evidence to the contrary,” Courfeyrac told him blithely.

Grantaire stuck out his tongue but refused to be deterred that easily. “So there’s something with a prophecy, and it involves Enjolras. I’m assuming Aphrodite was involved, too, given how pissed he currently is about Aphrodite’s most recent meddling, and whatever the prophecy was about, Enjolras isn’t exactly happy about it, which is why he’s mad at Rachel.” He glanced at Courfeyrac. “Am I right?”

Courfeyrac looked thoroughly miserable. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?” he sighed resignedly.

“That’s the thing about us mortals,” Grantaire said, feeling slightly more cheerful now that he was starting to figure Enjolras out, at least a little, “we’re awfully persistent like that. Pretty sure it was Homer in the Iliad who was like, ‘O, mortals, who art persistent as hell’, or something like that.”

Squinting at him suspiciously, Courfeyrac muttered, “I don’t remember that being in the Iliad.” He sighed again and shook his head. “Look, I know you want answers  — I get that. But I can’t tell you everything because it’s not my place to tell you some things.”

“And whose place would it be?” Grantaire asked, feeling slightly irked.

Courfeyrac looked pointedly at Enjolras’s retreating back, then linked his arm with Grantaire’s, pulling him towards the amphitheater. “If you want the whole story, you’ll have to get back on Enjolras’s good side. But knowing how long that can take, there are a few things that I can tell you that may help you make sense of everything. Or at least, make a little more sense.”

Though Grantaire felt a pang of disappointment, since getting answers out of Enjolras would be about as likely as turning into a pegasus, he nodded slowly, concentrating on not tripping down the amphitheater steps carved into the side of a hill and trying not to search for Enjolras in the crowd. “Alright, then tell me what you can. I’ll figure out Enjolras later.”

“Well,” Courfeyrac said with relish, nudging Grantaire along a row until they dropped into two empty seats in the middle of the other Hermes campers, “if you really want to understand everything, then there’s only one place to begin.” He took a deep breath and Grantaire rolled his eyes, sensing that Courfeyrac was going to enjoy this a little too much. “You see, it all starts with Enjolras’s Cause.”


	8. An Explanation is Given

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would think with writing this fanfic that I'd be up to date on happenings with the PJO series, but you'd think wrong. I literally just found out that next week Rick Riordan is dropping a new series, _[The Trials of Apollo](http://riordan.wikia.com/wiki/The_Hidden_Oracle)_ , and while obviously nothing in this fic will be changing to represent any updates to the PJO world we know and love, you should still buy the book (preferably from a local bookstore if you have one in your town) to support the author whose work I'm shamelessly using for my own (not-for-profit and covered by parody laws) ends.

A half dozen campers with a variety of Greek instruments stood in front of the fire pit, leading the rest of camp in a song, and Grantaire distractedly noticed that while the tune seemed familiar, the lyrics  — “Old Geryon had a farm  — seemed off. He didn’t pay much attention to the song, however, instead staring raptly at Courfeyrac. “Enjolras’s Cause,” he repeated. “You mean, the Cause that Les Amis de l’ABC works towards, right?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Right. That’s what started everything.” He gave Grantaire a searching look. “How much do you remember about what we told you about the Mist?”

“Um, it’s a veil that separates demigods, gods, magic, etcetera from mortals, right?” Grantaire asked, frowning. “But what’s that got to do — ”

“Patience, young grasshopper, I’m getting there,” Courfeyrac said comfortably. “Yeah, so the Mist is what keeps mortals from knowing about the gods and from seeing magical creatures and the sorts of things that would be hard for them to wrap their minds around. But gods and demigods can also manipulate the MIst, to create illusions and trick mortals.”

Grantaire frowned. “That doesn’t seem very fair to me.”

Courfeyrac gave him a long look. “Yeah, nor does it seem very fair to Enjolras. Hence the Cause.” Though Grantaire made a face at that, he let Courfeyrac continue without interruption. “Enjolras thinks that everyone  — mortal and otherwise  — should have the right to make their own decisions about their reality, and that tampering with what mortals see and believe is wrong. No one gave gods or demigods the right to control mortals like that.”

Nodding slowly in understanding, Grantaire looked out at the crowd of demigods, now getting started on a rousing rendition of “Grandma got run by a centaur”. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea that he and Enjolras agreed on something, but took comfort in the fact that while he recognized the inherent inequality, he wasn’t exactly moved to dedicate his life towards it. “Well,” he said after a long moment, “ignoring the obvious problem — ”

“What obvious problem?” Courfeyrac interrupted, frowning.

Grantaire smiled blithely at him. “Why, I thought someone as smart as Enjolras would have noticed  — the gods do have the right to control mortals. That’s the whole point of them being gods.”

Courfeyrac scowled. “Enjolras is  _ aware _ that they’re gods, but his point is that being gods isn’t  — or at least, shouldn’t be  — enough to allow them ultimate rule over mortals. And the Mist is a symbol of that ultimate rule, of the ultimate control they have over mortals.”

“Well, most mortals,” Grantaire corrected without thinking.

Courfeyrac blinked, then smiled slightly. “Yeah. Most mortals.”

Grantaire frowned slightly. “So then what does Enjolras propose? Get all the mortals together and have them hold a vote over whether to keep the gods in charge?”

“Not quite that, no, but the key is simple  — power can only come from the consent of the governed,” Courfeyrac said eagerly, and Grantaire sighed, his eyes already glazing over the way that they did in any class he’d ever taken involving politics. “And mortals can only consent if they fully understand what they’re consenting to, right? So the solution is simple — ”

“Make the gods stop manipulating the Mist and let mortals decide if they want it back,” Grantaire finished, and Courfeyrac looked a little put out that he’d figured it out on his own. “Ok, but like, I can’t really see the gods agreeing to that plan. So what’s Enjolras going to do, force them?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “No, even a full-scale insurrection against Mount Olympus wouldn’t get the gods to relent on this.” He said it with a confidence that suggested Les Amis had considered exactly that, and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “But there is another way.” He pointed at Percy Jackson, who was sitting alone under the Poseidon banner and clapping along to a song as if he was still a camper in his teens instead of a college graduate. “See, Percy’s the one who inspired Enjolras. When he was sixteen, he did a great service to the gods by helping them defeat the titan army, and they granted him a boon in thanks.”

“A boon?” Grantaire repeated, hiding a snigger. “You realize how ridiculous that sounds.”

Courfeyrac’s expression, however, was serious. “Zeus offered to make Percy into a god, granting him immortality and who knows what other powers,” he told Grantaire, something almost reverent in his tone. “And Percy turned them down.”

Grantaire was stunned, and he swiveled around to stare at Percy, trying to figure out what in the heck was wrong with him. “He turned them  _ down _ ?”

“Yep,” Courfeyrac said, a little smugly. “In exchange, he asked for his own boon  — that the gods recognize their demigod children, even the children of minor gods and goddesses.” He waved a hand at the crowd in the amphitheater and the dozens of banners, each representing a different god or goddess, that waved above them. “Why do you think we have to keep building cabins?”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “And that’s why Enjolras is so desperate for a quest,” he said, filling in the blanks. “He thinks that if he’s given an important enough quest through a prophecy, he can somehow leverage his boon into making the gods give up the Mist.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Exactly.”

“Ok, sure, let’s say we accept that premise,” Grantaire said, derision plain in his voice, “but how often is there a quest like the one that Percy did to defeat the titans? It’s not like this is the kind of thing that just pops up every few years, right?”

Though Courfeyrac looked a little crestfallen, he nodded in agreement. “I suppose you’re right,” he said reluctantly. “And, of course, it’s only gotten worse, since Zeus kind of forbid any new prophecies because of the last Great Prophecy.”

Grantaire stared at him. “He  _ outlawed _ new prophecies?” he repeated. “Then how in name of all that is holy does Enjolras think he’s going to get a prophecy for a quest that will net him a boon large enough to make the gods give up the Mist?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know if Enjolras has that figured out yet either. But the thing about Enjolras…” He paused, a faraway look on his face. “The thing about Enjolras is that he has a way of getting you to believe that anything is possible, no matter how unlikely. It’s why the rest of us are just as committed to the Cause as he is. We believe in him.” He glanced sideways at Grantaire. “And I bet if you spent more time with him, he’d convince you, too.”

“Yeah, right,” Grantaire scoffed. “I may be a mortal, but I’m not that gullible, and it’d take a lot more than even Enjolras’s pretty face to convince me that this whole Cause is more than a waste of time and energy.”

Privately, Grantaire had little doubt that if Enjolras really tried to convince him, he wouldn’t at least temporarily consider it. Not to mention that scenario involved Enjolras talking to him, probably with a really intense look in those endless blue eyes…

That thought alone was almost enough to make Grantaire wish that Enjolras would try to convince him, but his heart sank when he remembered that Enjolras seemed to want basically nothing to do with him. “So is that why Enjolras is so touchy about prophecies?” he asked. “He needs a prophecy to get a quest to get a boon, but there aren’t any prophecies because of Zeus?”

Courfeyrac hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “That’s not quite the whole story,” he admitted reluctantly. “See, Enjolras  _ did _ receive a prophecy. It was one that Rachel figured out from the Sibylline Books, but it…” He trailed off, clearly searching for the most delicate way to put it without revealing any details. “It wasn’t the prophecy that Enjolras was looking for,” he said carefully. “And Enjolras blames his mother for interfering.”

“HIs mother?” Grantaire asked. “What’s she got to do with this?”

Courfeyrac just mimed zipping his lip, and Grantaire sighed, realizing that the explanation, for the time being at least, was over. As Courfeyrac joined in on the chorus of, “Oh give me a home, where the pegasi roam”, Grantaire let his mind wander, staring out at the flames that danced merrily to the beat of the song.  _ It wasn’t the prophecy that Enjolras was looking for… _ Why did Grantaire have a sinking feeling that he was somehow wrapped up in that prophecy as well? It was the only thing that would explain Enjolras’s behavior towards him.

But then again, Rachel had said that she hadn’t seen a prophecy that involved Grantaire, and he had no reason to think that she’d lie to him. So if answer to Enjolras’s seeming disdain towards him couldn’t be found in whatever prophecy he’d been given, then what other explanation was there?

_ Maybe he really does just hate me _ , Grantaire thought to himself, feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. Normally it took at least a few weeks hanging out with Grantaire before people became irritated with him to the point of hatred, but he supposed anything was possible. And of course, it would be just Grantaire’s luck that the hottest guy he’d ever met would hate him on sight.

He was so busy with his self-pitying that he almost missed noticing the quiet argument across the amphitheater. Rachel was speaking urgently to Enjolras in undertones, and Enjolras was scowling at her with a look on his face that Grantaire had previously only ever seen directed at him. As the final strains of the song died down, Grantaire saw Enjolras’s lip curl and the entire group heard Enjolras spit scornfully at Rachel, “What do you know, anyway?”

Instantly, Rachel doubled over as if someone had punched her in the stomach, and one of the campers shrieked. Then she slowly straightened, green mist swirling ominously around her feet, and when her eyes opened, they glowed serpent green. Emerald smoke poured from her mouth as she pointed directly at Enjolras, who to Grantaire’s surprise, didn’t look concerned at all  — merely eager. 

In a voice that sounded both like Rachel’s own voice but deeper, and yet as ancient as time itself, Rachel intoned:

“The dove shall find what the goddess lost  
With companions committed to the cost  
Only to learn when your quest is complete  
That what you find won’t be what you seek.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Rachel pitched forward and collapsed. The entire amphitheater was silent before bursting into utter pandemonium. And in the midst of it all, Enjolras stood with a determined expression, looking for all the world like a Greek hero in an ancient painting.

“What just happened?” Grantaire asked Courfeyrac, completely agog.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “I’m pretty sure Enjolras just got the quest he was looking for.”


	9. A Quest is Received

The only thing that managed to settle the campers down after the prophecy was Chiron rearing onto his hind legs and crashing his hooves against the stone floor of the amphitheater. “Silence,” he thundered. “A quest has been given!”

All eyes were instantly on Enjolras, who looked at once excited and solemn as he told Chiron, “I will accept the quest.”

There wasn’t really any way to argue that the quest wasn’t meant for Enjolras  — Rachel had literally pointed directly at him  —  but Grantaire still shifted uneasily. The idea of Enjolras leaving him at camp wasn’t something he really wanted to think about, since he had hoped that he would have time to talk to Enjolras about this whole Cause thing and whatever prophecy he had been given that may or may not involve Grantaire in some way. 

Chiron nodded slowly before glancing at Mr. D, who was lounging in the first row of the amphitheater, Diet Coke in hand. “Mr. D, I assume you agree?”

“Hm?” Mr. D said, looking up with his usual bloodshot eyes. “Oh, sure. Young Engine can undertake the quest, blah blah blah. I couldn’t care less.”

Everyone was so excited about the first real prophecy and quest in years that not even Mr. D’s attitude nor completely wrong name for Enjolras could bring the general mood of the campers down, and the flames in the fire pit leapt even higher, pulsing with the excitement they seemed to sense from the crowd. “And who will you take as your companions?” Chiron asked, and a buzz of anticipation ran through the crowd.

Enjolras glanced through the crowd, his shoulders set and sure. “The prophecy speaks of companions committed to the cost of this quest, and I can think of two who I know to be committed above and beyond all: Combeferre and Courfeyrac  — my oldest friends.”

The Hermes cabin whooped and cheered, clapping Courfeyrac on the shoulder and offering him high fives. The Athena cabin was slightly more subdued in their excitement, turning at once to hurried discussions of planning for the quest. Courfeyrac glanced over at Grantaire, grinning, and Grantaire tried to smile back, though he was sure that his smile was more of a grimace.

Chiron let the cheers carry on for a moment before raising a hand for quiet. “Very well,” he said. “Three is the proper number for a demigod quest, and you can leave tomorrow as soon as you’ve gathered all your supplies.”

Enjolras nodded and turned to leave, but suddenly — “No,” Mr. D said in a bored-sounding voice.

“No?” Chiron repeated, looking over at Mr. D, who stood and, to Grantaire’s utter shock, waved a dismissive hand in his direction.

“You’ll take the mortal as well.”

Enjolras whirled around, furious, and the crowd broke into nervous muttering. Chiron stepped between Enjolras and Mr. D, perhaps anticipating that Enjolras might say something to the god that even he would regret. “Mr. D, three is a the proper number for a quest,” Chiron said carefully. “The ancient laws clearly state that a hero shall have two companions, and breaking the ancient laws always has its consequences.”

As if echoing his words, a low roll of thundered boomed across camp. Mr. D didn’t look impressed, though it was hard to tell what he was thinking. “And there are some laws more ancient than others,” he said cryptically. “Besides, the mortal barely counts as a companion. Aphrodite may have chosen him but I don’t want a puny mortal at camp, so he’ll have to go with. End of discussion.”

Though Enjolras still looked angry, he jerked his head in a nod of acquiescence. Chiron looked uncomfortable but clearly was in no position to argue. “Very well. Tomorrow morning, Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Grantaire will leave for their quest.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Do you know where you will go and what you seek?”

“Philadelphia,” Enjolras said, still seething, and he didn’t even look up at Grantaire as he added, “The Gray Sisters told us that they knew the first stop on my quest and mentioned my brother  — where else would I find him but the City of Brotherly Love?”

Grantaire glanced at Courfeyrac. “I didn’t know Enjolras had a brother,” he muttered, realizing that he had a million and one other, more important things to worry about, but, being unable to wrap his mind around that, latching on to the one thing he could understand.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “Technically, all of the Aphrodite campers are his siblings, but in this case, I think he means one of Aphrodite’s other children.”

“Right,” Grantaire said, as if he understood, but Courfeyrac’s answer had done little to actually answer his question.

Below, Enjolras was continuing, “As for what the goddess lost, Aphrodite mentioned to me one of the last times we spoke that she had misplaced her cestus. I can only imagine that is what we’ll be looking for.”

Grantaire had no idea what a cestus was, but he supposed that’s why he was only an auxiliary member of the quest. His heart seemed to drop somewhere into the vicinity of his stomach as he realized that he was actually going to have to go on this quest where not only did Enjolras not want him, but where he was grossly unqualified to help in any way, shape or form. This quest might be Enjolras’s opportunity to prove himself to the gods, but all it was for Grantaire was an opportunity to earn Enjolras’s disdain for good.

He thought of the demigods he had seen throughout the day practicing swordfighting and archery and other skills that would be incredibly useful on this quest. He didn’t know how to do any of that. Sure, he had some skills but none of them seemed particularly useful now. Hestia had told him that he might find a home for himself, but all Grantaire could see in his immediate future was at best making a damn fool of himself on this quest or at worst winding up killed by some monster that he had no clue how to fight.

He was beginning to work himself into a full-blown panic spiral, and he barely even noticed as Feuilly sat down next to him, clapping him on the shoulder. “So obviously you will be needing a weapon,” she told him, her tone businesslike. “I’ll help you pick one out tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

“Great,” Grantaire said distractedly, and he stood. “I’m just...I need some air.”

He stumbled down the steps of the amphitheater, not seeing the concerned look that Feuilly and Courfeyrac exchanged as he left. He couldn’t stay in that amphitheater, surrounded by demigods who wouldn’t understand what he was thinking.

It was surprisingly chilly away from the warmth of the firepit, and Grantaire stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying not to shiver. “Are you cold?” someone asked, and Grantaire turned, surprised to see Enjolras sitting on a marble bench and looking at him, expression unreadable in the dim light.

“A little,” Grantaire admitted, drifting closer to Enjolras. “I thought this place was supposed to be magic and control the weather. Shouldn’t it be, like, 80 degrees year round?”

Enjolras laughed lightly. “Yeah, you’d think, but apparently magic likes having four seasons.” He hesitated for a moment, then held something out toward Grantaire. “Here. This’ll keep you warm.”

Grantaire took whatever it was from Enjolras, grinning despite himself when he recognized the red hoodie Enjolras had been wearing that first time they met on the train. “Thanks, but aren’t you going to be cold now?”

Enjolras just shrugged. “Nah, I’m good for the moment. Besides, I can always go back to the fire if I do get cold.”

“Speaking of,” Grantaire said, shrugging the hoodie on and feeling instantly warmer, “why aren’t you back at the campfire, basking in the glow of your quest?” Shrugging again, Enjolras glanced away, and Grantaire bit his lip before blurting, “Which I’m sorry about being forced to be a part of, by the way. I didn’t want...I mean…I know you don’t want me there.”

For a moment, Enjolras scowled again. “It’s not that I don’t want you there,” he snapped, then paused before hastily amending, “I mean, it’s not  _ just _ that I don’t want you there.”

“Thanks, you sure know how to make a guy feel wanted,” Grantaire said dryly.

“You know what I mean,” Enjolras said impatiently. “You’re a mortal. There’s only so much that you can do without just being a hinderance.”

It was Grantaire’s turn to scowl. “Thank you, as always, for reminding me that I am a mortal and nothing more than a hinderance to your world. As a reminder to you,  _ I _ didn’t choose this. Your mother and Mr. D did, so maybe you could direct just a little bit of your pissed-off-ness at them.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Are you going to take offense at everything I say?” he asked.

“That depends,” Grantaire shot back. “Are you going to start saying things that aren’t offensive?”

For a moment, it looked like Enjolras was going to argue with that, but then he paused and sighed. “I don’t mean to be offensive,” he said carefully. “And I didn’t mean to say you were a hinderance or imply that there’s anything wrong with being a mortal. But quests are dangerous, even without having to be concerned that a person on said quest doesn’t have any training on how to defend himself.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “So now you’re going to claim that this is all because you’re  _ worried _ about me?”

“I  _ am _ worried about you,” Enjolras said sharply, and Grantaire stared at him, surprised. “I’m worried that you’re going to continue your streak of getting in trouble, and I’m worried that I won’t be there to get you out of it. I’m worried about why Mr. D is insisting you go, just like I’m worried about why my mother sent you here in the first place. I’m worried that you have no clue what you’re getting yourself into and worried that this quest is going to be a disaster. I’m worried — ” He broke off with a huff, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I  _ am _ worried, ok?”

Grantaire hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to him. “If it makes you feel better,” he said carefully, “I’m terrified.” Enjolras’s eyes met his and Grantaire managed a half-smile. “But at least I know that this is what you’ve always dreamed of, so you’ll be more prepared than I am.” Enjolras didn’t look convinced and Grantaire nudged him companionably. “Besides, at the very least you can look at this as sort of a test run for your Cause, right?”

Enjolras’s eyes lit up at that. “Did Courfeyrac tell you about that?” he asked, sounding excited for the first time that day.

Shrugging, Grantaire glanced over at the campfire. “He might have told me a little, but I expect you’ll be able to tell me a bit more.”

“Absolutely,” Enjolras said, with a touch of his old confidence, and he hesitated before telling Grantaire, surprisingly sincere, “I’m sorry, by the way.”

Grantaire gasped and put a hand up to his forehead in mock-surprise. “An apology? Well, I do declare I never thought I would see the day when Monsieur Enjolras apologized to the likes of me.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but was smiling as he nudged Grantaire with his shoulder. He opened his mouth as it to say more when one of the Aphrodite campers making their way back to their cabin from the campfire wolf-whistled and called, “Enjolras and the mortal, sitting in a tree — ”

The entire cabin laughed and Enjolras blushed, his smile disappearing, and he stood up abruptly. “I have to go,” he snapped, no hint of warmth in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t you need your hoodie back?” Grantaire called, but Enjolras ignored him, trudging over to fall in line with his cabinmates. 

Grantaire stared after him, feeling suddenly colder than he had been before putting the hoodie on, and after a long moment stood to walk up to the Big House. He saw Rachel walking a little ahead of him and picked up his pace to meet up with her. She glanced over at the hoodie he was wearing and smiled slightly. “Nice hoodie,” she said.

“It’s not mine,” Grantaire said, a little unnecessarily, and gave her a sideways glance before looking away. “So that’s what it’s like when you give a prophecy, huh?”

Rachel shrugged. “For the most part.” She paused in her step as they reached the Big House. “Sometimes it’s less dramatic than that.” 

“Like when you gave Enjolras the other prophecy?” he asked shrewdly.

Her expression was carefully neutral. “So you heard about that, did you? And I’m imagining you want me to tell you what the prophecy said?” Grantaire shrugged innocently, and Rachel just shook her head. “Even if I wanted to tell you, it’s none of your business. The only person who should tell you about it is Enjolras.”

Grantaire looked stricken, but Rachel’s tone was gentle as she told him, “It will get easier. I promise. I know everything is really overwhelming right now, and trust me, I get that your life might seem really bizarre, but you’ll find a way to make everything work out. I mean, I did.”

Frowning, Grantaire pointed out, “Yeah, but you’re possessed by the ancient Spirit of Delphi, and I’m definitely not. So finding a way to make everything work out might be a little more difficult for me.”

Rachel laughed. “I may be possessed by the Spirit of Delphi, but you have the blessing of Aphrodite.” With that, she leaned in and kissed his cheek before giving him a wave and disappearing into the night.

Grantaire wished he had managed a comeback right then, but it wasn’t until he lay in bed several minutes later, staring up at the ceiling, that he finally grumbled, “But that’s not the same thing.”


	10. Grantaire Gets a Sword (and Some Surprising Advice)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding a "canon-divergent" tag on this because of the official publication of [The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo book #1)](https://www.amazon.com/Trials-Apollo-Book-One-Hidden-ebook/dp/B0169FUXJ2?ie=UTF8&keywords=the%20hidden%20oracle&qid=1462463479&ref_=sr_1_1&s=books&sr=1-1). I will offer no spoilers for those who haven't read it yet, but obviously I couldn't anticipate the events of that book, so this is officially canon-divergent as of the end of the Heroes of Olympus series.
> 
> Also my final plug that any PJO fans should definitely buy The Hidden Oracle - I read it in about 2 hours yesterday and it was a really fun read and quite quick to get through, so. Add it to your list, show Uncle Rick some love, etc. etc.

The next morning found Grantaire tired and worn, having slept terribly during the night, tossing and turning and worrying into the early morning hours. It was around 3 in the morning that he realized that his parents had no idea where he was and must be furious with him. He wasn’t naive enough to think they’d be worried — he’d disappeared for a few days at a stretch before, returning to only complaints and lectures.

Still, he figured he might want to let them know that he was alive and wouldn’t be home for several days, and he mentioned as much to Chiron, following him to the dining pavilion for breakfast that morning. “Of course you should let them know,” Chiron said instantly, his tail swishing. “I’m sorry we didn’t think of it before, but most of the campers have...strained relationships with their families.”

“Yeah, well, I imagine keeping a monumental secret like this would strain any parent-child relationship,” Grantaire said with forced levity.

Chiron smiled wanly. “Indeed. And speaking of—” He glanced sideways at Grantaire. “I’m assuming keeping this from your parents won’t cause undue trouble?”

Grantaire snorted. “They wouldn’t believe me even if I wanted to tell them, which I don’t. I’ll just make something up — last minute class trip that I forgot, or something like that. They won’t care. But is there a phone in the Big House? I don’t recall seeing one, and I lost my cellphone somewhere in the city when I was being chased by the manticore..”

Chiron shook his head. “No, technology like that...well, let’s just say that technology and demigods don’t mix. You’ll have to wait until you get into the city to use a payphone.” Grantaire wanted to point out that he wasn’t sure payphones still existed, but he didn’t. He’d figure it out one way or another. “Anyway, make sure that you get all of your preparations completed as soon as you can — I think Enjolras wants to head out as soon after breakfast as possible.”

Grantaire paused as they reached the dining hall, seeing Enjolras at the Aphrodite table and remembering how their conversation the night before had ended. “Go on, you can sit with Cabin 10,” Chiron encouraged him, seeing his hesitation and misreading it. “You carry the blessing of Aphrodite, after all.”

Clearly dismissed, Grantaire made his way over to the Aphrodite table, surprised when one of the girls there gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. “Grantaire,” she said, her voice falsely cheerful. “Why don’t you sit down by Enjolras?”

Enjolras’s ears seemed to burn red and Grantaire avoided looking at him as he took the proffered spot. The girls across from him, who shared no familial resemblance with Enjolras beyond unnaturally good looks, broke into giggles, but Grantaire ignored them. “Coffee,” he told his empty glass, feeling instantly better when it filled itself. “Can’t survive without my caffeine.”

He settled in to enjoy his breakfast, doing his best to ignore Enjolras, who was still glowering next to him, but the girls across the table seemed to be enjoying making both of them as uncomfortable as they could. “So Grantaire,” one said, twisting a blonde curl around her finger, “tell us about yourself — are you dating anyone?”

“Um, I’m afraid I’m single at the moment,” Grantaire said, spearing a piece of pancake with his fork and tipping an enormous wink at them. “Single and looking, so if you know anyone available…”

There were more giggles, and a dark-haired girl leaned forward. “Well, you know, Enjolras is single, too.”

Grantaire was careful not to look over at him and kept his voice light as he replied, “Single, maybe, but I don’t think he’s available. Besides, I’m not sure any demigod would go for a guy like me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” the dark-haired girl simpered, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “For a mortal, you’re  _ fascinating _ . Don’t you think Grantaire is fascinating, Enjolras?”

Now Grantaire did sneak a glance at Enjolras, who looked wound so tightly that he might snap. “Leave him alone, Musichetta,” Enjolras growled, and as before, there was a certain power in his voice that none of the girls seemed able to argue with.

Musichetta tossed her dark hair, clearly put out. “We’re just trying to be friendly,” she sniffed, linking her arm with the blonde’s and standing. “Some of us wouldn’t mind having a cute mortal hanging all over us.”

With that, the girls left, and Grantaire chanced another glance at Enjolras, who looked a little more relaxed with them gone. “So, your, uh, sisters seem...great,” Grantaire managed.

Enjolras snorted. “Yeah, they can take a little getting used to.” He changed the subject quickly. “Are you almost ready to head out?”

“I think so,” Grantaire said, finishing a piece of bacon. “Feuilly promised me that she’d help me pick out a sword. I figure it’s better to be armed, even if I don’t know how to use it.”

Enjolras nodded. “Definitely. You should also see Joly — he’ll get you set up with some first aid stuff. And I’ll have Courfeyrac grab some extra clothes and a toothbrush for you from the camp store.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, surprised that Enjolras was being so civil. “So, about this thing that we’re looking for — your mom’s magic, um, whatchamacallit…”

“Her magic cestus,” Enjolras said, smiling slightly. “It’s a magical girdle. Whoever bears it is supposed to be incredibly appealing.”

Grantaire thought of Aphrodite and made a face. “I wouldn’t think your mom needed to be  _ more _ appealing,” he said, and Enjolras laughed lightly.

“You’d think, but according to legend, she’s also used it to help couples fall in love. Even Hera has borrowed it to help keep married couples together.” Enjolras shrugged. “That might be how Aphrodite misplaced it — lent it to someone and forgot. We’ll find out, I guess.”

Grantaire finished his coffee. “And your brother — the one that we’re going to see in Philadelphia — I’m assuming you know who he is?”

Enjolras nodded, though he seemed slightly hesitant. “I think I do, anyway,” he said, more to himself than Grantaire. “And if I’m right, it may end up being very dangerous.” 

There were a million things Grantaire wanted to say to that, but he chose not to. “And are we all just going to ignore the last part of the prophecy? ‘And only to learn when your quest is complete—’”

“‘That what you find won’t be what you seek’,” Enjolras finished, frowning. “Well, prophecies are rarely straightforward, and that could mean anything. I’m not ignoring it so much as I don’t think it’s important to focus on that right now.” Still, his frown deepened and he stared off into space for a moment before shaking his head and looking over at Grantaire. “Are you done with breakfast?” he asked, suddenly businesslike. “I want to leave as soon as possible.”

It was clearly a dismissal, and Grantaire stood, looking around for Feuilly, who was waiting at the Hephaestus table. “Ready?” Feuilly asked in her gruff way, and Grantaire nodded, following Feuilly to the Hephaestus cabin, or more accurately, to a shed behind it. 

“Whoa,” Grantaire said, his mouth dropping open as Feuilly opened the shed door, because the shed was lined with weapons of every size and variety you could think of — swords, spears, clubs, bows, guns and knives. Every weapon was the same bronze color as Enjolras’s spear and all looked deadlier up close than Grantaire would have thought.

Feuilly just grunted as pulled a long-sword off of the wall and handed it to Grantaire hilt first. “This is just our storage stock. If we had more time I’d forge you something myself so that the balance was correct, but this will have to do.”

Grantaire swung the sword experimentally, feeling a bit foolish, and went to run his fingers along the edge of the blade, yelping when the metal seemed to just...pass through his fingers as if it, or Grantaire, wasn’t solid. “Oh, sorry, I should’ve warned you,” Feuilly said, taking the sword back and hanging it back up on its peg. “They’re all celestial bronze. It’s mined from Mount Olympus and it only affects monsters, gods and demigods. Mortals just aren’t…” 

She trailed off as if unsure how to finish the thought and Grantaire sighed. “Don’t you start holding back on me as well. I can take it.”

Feuilly gave him an appraising look and nodded. “Fine. Mortals just aren’t important enough for celestial bronze to harm them. You should still be able to wield it with no problem, and the good news is that you won’t even be able to accidentally injure yourself.”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, that would be my luck.” He took the dagger Feuilly offered next and waved it around, unsurprised when Feuilly took it back. “What about one of the guns?” he asked. “They seem to make the most sense for a mortal.”

“Maybe, but they’re also hardest to use properly,” Feuilly said bluntly. She took a step back and eyed him carefully. “Have you done any kind of fighting before?”

“Um, I took boxing and fencing in school,” Grantaire said, doubt lacing his voice, but Feuilly seemed to brighten at that, digging in the back of the shed and emerging with what looked like a fencing foil and holding it out to him. “Are you serious?” he asked, taking it from her. 

Feuilly, however, looking particularly satisfied as Grantaire swung it experimentally. “Perfectly balanced,” she muttered, nodding in approval. “And the sabre design allows for slashing as well as thrusting. More elegant than functional for the way most demigods fight, but you’re not a demigod. I think it’s perfect.”

Grantaire felt ridiculous, and he sighed, picturing the look on Enjolras’s face when he saw Grantaire with a weapon as useless as he was. As if sensing Grantaire’s thoughts, Feuilly frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “It’ll still kill a monster, if that’s what you’re worried about. And if Enjolras gives you crap over it, tell him where he can stick it.”

“Right, like I can just tell Enjolras where to stick it,” Grantaire muttered. “He already hates me enough, why not just add to it.” Feuilly laughed, and Grantaire frowned at her. “What? He does.”

“Enjolras couldn’t hate you if he tried, and trust me, he’s not trying very hard,” Feuilly said confidently.

Grantaire made a face. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Feuilly frowned at him, and Grantaire was suddenly acutely aware that Feuilly was standing in front of a shed full of weapons. She may have said that they wouldn’t hurt him, but Grantaire wasn’t sure he wanted to take that chance. “Look, Enjolras hasn’t had the easiest time of things, and if that makes him seem a little…”

“Dick-ish?” Grantaire suggested, and Feuilly’s frown deepened.

“I was going to say temperamental, but sure. If that makes him seem a little dick-ish, it’s not fully his fault. So maybe you need to cut him a little slack.”

Grantaire knew that he should leave the topic alone, but he couldn’t help himself. “Yeah, I’m sure that being drop-dead gorgeous has its downside,” he said sarcastically. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be going through life like that.”

Feuilly nodded as if she hadn’t noticed the sarcasm. “Exactly. Enjolras has not only had to deal with all the things that come with being a son of Aphrodite, but he can charmspeak on top of it.”

“Charmspeak?” Grantaire asked despite himself, his desire to know more about Enjolras outweighing his attempt at forced casual indifference.

“Some children of Aphrodite have the ability to convince people to do things. Enjolras is one of them.” Grantaire thought of the power he’d sensed in Enjolras’s voice, how it had soothed him when he thought he wouldn’t be able to relax, or how it had forced the girls at the Aphrodite table to leave just that morning. “Which has made things even harder.”

Grantaire snorted. “Please explain to me how being hot and persuasive has somehow made things difficult for Enjolras.”

Feuilly shook her head. “Courfeyrac told you about the Cause?” she asked abruptly, and Grantaire nodded, confused by the sudden change in topic. “Ok, then you know that what Enjolras wants most of all is for mortals to free from the Mist and the powers of gods, right?” Again, Grantaire nodded, still not putting it together, and Feuilly sighed, clearly irritated at having to spell it out for him. “Enjolras’s biggest concern is making sure that people are free, so having the ability to convince people to do things against their will whether through his good looks or his charmspeak might be hard for him to reconcile with his ideals.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, his voice small, and he busied himself with hooking the fencing sabre to his belt so that he wouldn’t have to look at Feuilly. He still wasn’t convinced that being hot and getting people to do things had a downside, but if Enjolras was as committed to the idea of liberty as everyone seemed to think, then perhaps it might be more difficult than he might think.

“Not to mention the fact that Enjolras lives with other children of Aphrodite, who all like to date and flirt and do all the things that Enjolras has avoided.” Feuilly shrugged. “He’s never really fit in as a son of Aphrodite. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

Grantaire did, more than ever after the various revelations from yesterday, and he filed that away for future reference of things he and Enjolras might shockingly have in common. But in the meantime— “So Enjolras doesn’t date? Like, ever, or, like he hasn’t just found the right person? Or...”

Feuilly’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, like I’m gonna waste my time discussing Enjolras’s love life.” She shut the door to the shed with more force than necessary and Grantaire jumped back at the noise, just managing to avoid the urge to salute her. “Give him a break, get a grip and go on this stupid quest. It’s not that hard.” 

“Everything going ok?” someone asked mildly from behind him, and Grantaire whirled around, surprised to see Percy standing there, watching Grantaire and Feuilly with amusement.

“Everything’s fine,” Feuilly said shortly. “Will you walk Grantaire over to the Apollo cabin?”

Feuilly didn’t wait for Percy to answer, merely clapping Grantaire on the shoulder and heading back toward the Hephaestus cabin. Percy raised his eyebrows at Grantaire. “Do I even want to know?” he asked.

Grantaire shrugged. “I think Feuilly was trying to give me advice, in her own way. I think.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “But you don’t have to walk me to the Apollo cabin. I mean, it’s just next door.”

Percy examined him closely for a moment. “No, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of finding it, but I did want to talk to you. In fact, I wanted to offer you a little bit of advice myself, since I know how you’re feeling.”

“You do?” Grantaire asked doubtfully.

“Yeah,” Percy said, jerking his head toward the Apollo cabin. “Walk with me and I’ll tell you about it, see if I can give you some advice that’ll help you even as a mortal.”

“Right,” Grantaire said, “even as a mortal.”

For some reason, that thought didn’t reassure him.


	11. Grantaire Gets More Advice (and One Last Chance to Back Out)

Percy fell in step next to Grantaire, and not for the first time, Grantaire was struck by how calmly confident Percy was. Which made it all the more surprising when Percy glanced sideways at him, grinned slightly, and told him, “You know, I was terrified for my first quest, too.”

Grantaire looked up at him. “Am I that obvious?” he asked.

Percy shrugged. “Honestly, I’d be more concerned if you weren’t freaking out a little. Of course, on  _ my _ first quest, I had a deadline in order to find Zeus’s missing master bolt before it started an epic war between Zeus and Poseidon that would have thrown the world into chaos, but I’m sure your quest is a little stressful, too.”

It took Grantaire a moment to realize that Percy was joking. “Hardy-har,” he said dryly. “So you think you can offer me advice to help, the lowly mortal, feel slightly less terrified?”

Percy ignored the quip about ‘lowly mortal’, instead stopping and facing Grantaire. “I don’t know if it’ll make you feel less terrified, but I wanted to tell you about the hardest piece of advice I ever got,” he told Grantaire. “I was in the middle of the battle of my life, the battle for things far beyond my life, to be honest. And I got a message through Rachel, just five words that changed everything: you are not the hero.”

Grantaire stared at him. “Are you trying to tell me that I’m not the hero?” he asked, starting to laugh in spite of himself. “Because I hate to break it to you, but I already know that. That’s, like, the least surprising thing of all time.”

“No, that’s not—” Percy started, sounding frustrated, then he paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “At the time, I was the subject of a prophecy that spoke of a hero. What Rachel meant is that while I was a part of that prophecy, not all of it belonged to me, and that I wasn’t the hero who had to put the final piece of the prophecy into place.”

“So what are you trying to say?” Grantaire asked.

“Two things, mostly,” Percy said, suddenly serious. “The first is that you need to understand that you are an important part of this quest, not just an afterthought or a useless mortal or whatever.” Grantaire shifted uncomfortably, since those exact thoughts had been going through his mind all morning. “You’ll have a role to play. You may not be the hero — or for all you know, you  _ may _ end up being the hero — but you’re still a part of this quest. Don’t count yourself out before the quest even begins.”

Grantaire wondered if his thoughts were really that transparent. “And what if I have no clue what the role may be?”

Percy shrugged. “Sometimes, the most important role you can play is just being yourself. On my first quest…” He trailed off, his voice fond. “Annabeth was my saving grace on that quest, and all the ones that followed. She kept me grounded and focused, even if it was just by yelling at me and calling me ‘Seaweed Brain’.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Combeferre and Courfeyrac have each other, but Enjolras will need someone to keep him grounded as well. You’ll have to do that.”

For a moment, Grantaire just stared at him, then he laughed again, the sound harsh and brittle. “And what if he doesn’t let me?”

“If he wants the quest to succeed, he’ll have to,” Percy said, completely serious. “And when he gets to that point where he needs you to keep him focused, you’ll need to be ready.”

There were a million things Grantaire wanted to say, and a million things he wanted to argue, but he decided not to push it. “Ok, and what’s the second thing?”

Percy stopped and faced Grantaire. “The second thing is about quests in general. Even though your quest seems simple and straightforward, quests very rarely are. Often they end up serving multiple purposes.” He paused before adding, “Just like prophecies often have multiple meanings.”

Grantaire nodded slowly, and Percy gestured behind him at the Apollo cabin. “Joly’s inside. He’ll get you set up with a first aid kit.” He offered his hand for Grantaire to shake. “Remember — keep him grounded, and there may be more going on than you think. If you can do that, you’ll be fine.”

“Even as a mortal,” Grantaire said, trying to joke but falling completely flat.

Percy grinned. “Exactly. Even as a mortal.”

Grantaire wished that people would stop thinking that was somehow reassuring. 

He gave Percy a half-hearted wave of thanks before turning to the Apollo cabin. He knocked on the door, raising his eyebrows when a harried voice shouted from inside, “Come in if you want.”

He opened to the door and poked his head in, surprised to see Joly balancing precariously on top of a chair as he rummaged through a cabinet above a bunk. “Oh, Grantaire,” Joly said, barely sparing him a second glance. “I’ll be just a moment. I’m trying to find—Ah-ha!”

He triumphantly pulled something from the cabinet and tossed it onto the bunk below. Grantaire glanced over at it.“A blood pressure cuff?” he asked, amused.

“For your first aid kit,” Joly told him, sounding completely serious as he scrambled down from the chair and gestured at the other materials laid out on the bunk.

Grantaire’s eyes widened. “This is for my first aid kit?” he asked, trying to hold back laughter. “Gee, Joly, it looks like you went a little overboard.”

In fact, the entire bunk was covered with medical supplies, from the practical — sterile bandages, antibiotic ointment, sun screen — to the completely unnecessary — a stethoscope, what looked like a portable defibrillator, and, of course, the blood pressure cuff. Joly looked from the supplies to Grantaire, frowning slightly. “This is just about everything you’d find in an EMT’s bag,” he said, as if that explained everything, which as far as Grantaire was concerned, it didn’t.

“Right, but I somehow doubt I’ll be needing most of this stuff,” Grantaire said, shifting some of the supplies so that he could sit down. “I mean, I’m sure you demigods have, like, super-healing abilities and stuff, but—”

“We don’t,” Joly said, sounding surprised. “I mean, short of bathing in the River Styx, we’re as vulnerable as mortals. Twice as vulnerable, technically, if you count the fact that we can be injured or killed by celestial bronze as well as regular metal.”

Grantaire frowned at him. “Then why don’t Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras have similar first aid kits?”

Joly hesitated, then said, “Ok, well maybe ‘as vulnerable as mortals’ is an overstatement, but we don’t have super-healing abilities. What we do have is this.” He pointed to his nightstand at a baggie of what looked like lemon squares and a canteen. “Ambrosia and nectar. Food of the gods, and in small doses, it heals demigods.”

“And I’m assuming  it has no effect on mortals?” Grantaire asked, remembering what Feuilly had said about celestial bronze.

Shaking his head, Joly grabbed a knapsack and started putting the first aid supplies inside. “Not quite. It burns them up from the inside.” Grantaire made a startled squeak, and Joly glanced up, flashing him a reassuring smile. “But that’s why we have the emergency supplies.” He looked down again, his smile fading. “I only hope we have enough for a mortal.”

Grantaire scowled. “You know, I realize I’m a mortal, but I’m not  _ that _ destructible.”

Under different circumstances, he might have aimed that comment as a joke, but Grantaire was beginning to feel more than a little disgruntled by being a mortal on this quest. Joly looked up again, and this time he wasn’t smiling. “Look,” he said, his voice quiet and a little urgent, “I know you’ve seen monsters for years, that this seems like nothing new to you, but it is. You’re going to be accompanied by three demigods, whose scent will attract more dangerous monsters than you’ve dealt with. And if you get hurt, you can’t just go to an emergency room and get stitched up, not without doing a lot of explaining. So if it seems like I’m going a little overboard, it’s for good reason.”

Grantaire sobered at Joly’s serious tone, and he looked away. After a long moment, he asked quietly, “What do you mean, their scent?”

Realizing that Grantaire wasn’t going to argue about the medical supplies — at least for the moment — Joly relaxed slightly. “Demigods smell,” he said bluntly. “I don’t know what it is about us, but to monsters, we just reek. They can smell us from miles away. That’s why it’s so dangerous for a demigod to be on their own.”

Though Grantaire nodded in understanding, he was frowning, a wrinkle of worry that reflected the sudden sinking feeling he had creasing his forehead. “And — theoretically — could a demigod’s scent rub off on someone?” he asked, forcedly casual. “Like, say, if they accidentally sat in their lap?”

Joly looked startled by the question. “I suppose it’s possible,” he said, doubt in his voice. “I mean, it’s definitely more likely to work the other way. Mortal scents tend to mask demigods. I’d imagine that any such effect would be temporary at best.”

“So it probably wouldn’t last for about four weeks?”

If Joly looked startled before, now he looked downright suspicious. “It’d be highly unlikely that the scent would hang around, not without repeat interactions,” he said slowly. “Dare I ask why you’re asking?”

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, no particular reason,” he said with forced levity. “Just, you know...hypothesizing.”

Joly put his hands on his hips and scowled at Grantaire. “If there’s something going on that I should know about, you need to tell me,” he said, suddenly fierce. “I’m a  _ doctor _ , if not in medical license yet then at the very least by being camp medic since Will went to California. Which means we have doctor-patient confidentiality. You can tell me anything, and I’m not going to tell anyone.” He paused before adding shrewdly, “I’m not going to tell Enjolras.”

Laughing weakly, Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s not really anything to tell,” he hedged. “I first met Enjolras a few weeks ago, and I think some of his demigod scent must have rubbed off on me because that’s when the monsters started noticing me.”

Frowning, Joly tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Interesting,” he murmured, staring off into space. “No repeat contact, but the scent still stayed…” His frown deepened. “If we had more time I’d get together with the Athena cabin and figure out some kind of test, but…” He shook his head. “Look, if some part of Enjolras’s scent is still on you, that means you have to be extra careful, alright?”

“Yes, Mother,” Grantaire grumbled, even as his stomach clenched uncomfortably. As if he needed something  _ else _ to worry about on this quest.

Joly’s expression softened. “I know that this is a lot to take in, and I honestly can’t imagine what it has to be like for you, but just know that you couldn’t have better company than Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Between the three of them, and your own abilities, which I don’t doubt for a second, you’ll be fine.”

Grantaire was tempted to roll his eyes or make a joke, but Joly was being serious and for once, Grantaire decided not to ruin the moment. “Thanks,” he said, a little gruffly, but he couldn’t fully resist the temptation to diffuse the tension with a joke. “Well, hopefully we’ll be back before you turn 21 and I can teach you how to drink properly because judging by the smell of the swill your boyfriend was drinking last night, you’re gonna need all the help you can get.”

Joly laughed. “Are you sure you’re not a son of Dionysus?” he teased.

Grantaire gasped, mock-offended. “I’m sorry, have you  _ seen _ the dude? I’ve literally never been more insulted in my life.” He grabbed the first aid kit from Joly, hesitated, punched him companionably on the shoulder, and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Grantaire?” Joly said, and Grantaire paused. “I imagine no one’s told you it, but — don’t forget to have fun.”

“Right,” Grantaire said, shifting the first aid kit from one hand to the other. “Monsters are out to kill us, we’re looking for a goddess’s lost girdle, the leader of this quest seems to go back and forth between hating me and not, and if I get hurt or wounded or maimed, I can’t even go to a hospital and instead have to rely on the medical skills of 3 other sixteen-year-olds. That sounds like the very definition of fun.”

Joly just laughed. “Like I said — have fun.”

Grantaire studied Joly for a moment. “You’re weird,” he decided. “I like you.”

“Then I hope you make it back unmaimed,” Joly told him, and Grantaire was torn between laughing and scowling. He settled for rolling his eyes and saluting before leaving the Apollo cabin.

Surprisingly, Joly’s pep talk had worked, and Grantaire was almost calm as he made his way toward the camp border, where Percy, Chiron, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras and a few others were waiting. Percy clapped him on the shoulder. “Joly get you all set?”

Grantaire hefted the first aid kit. “And then some,” he said, glancing over at Courfeyrac, who was deep in conversation with a satyr and a pretty, elfish girl with dark hair who seemed to be somehow see-through. “Is that a nymph?”

“An  _ aura _ ,” Percy confirmed. “Wind nymph. Her name is Cosette, and the satyr is—”

“Marius Pontmercy,” Courfeyrac interjected smoothly, gesturing as if he was a game show host to the satyr, who offered a slightly embarrassed wave. “And of course, his companion is the always beautiful Cosette.”

Cosette giggled. “Courfeyrac is such a shameless flirt,” she said airily. “You’d think he was the son of Aphrodite instead of…”

She trailed off as Enjolras broke off his conversation with Chiron to stare at them. “What?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing!” everyone said simultaneously.

Though he still looked like he didn’t believe them, Enjolras just shrugged and glanced at Grantaire. “Can we have a minute?” he asked.

Suddenly, everyone seemed to be very interested in not looking at either Enjolras or Grantaire, and Grantaire blushed slightly but followed Enjolras as they stepped away from the group. “So,” Enjolras said, a little awkwardly, “Feuilly got you set up with a sword?”

“Yeah, it’s super practical,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “And Joly got me plenty of medical supplies and reminded me that if I get injured I’m basically screwed so, you know. I’m in a good spot.”

Enjolras frowned. “You know, you don’t have to go,” he said. “If you were to choose to go back to your parents’ place, Dionysus won’t get in trouble with Aphrodite for making you go back, and your life will basically go back to the way it was. No demigods, and monsters that hopefully leave you alone. It’d be normal.”

Grantaire smirked at him. “You’re just trying to get rid of me.”

“Of course not—” Enjolras started hotly, but paused when Grantaire sniggered. “Oh. You were kidding.”

“I was indeed kidding,” Grantaire confirmed, his smile softening. “Dude, do you honestly think that if I left right now and went back to my parents my life would somehow be normal? You’ve wrecked any semblance of normalcy that I ever pretended to have, but look, I’m ok with that. Nothing may have been normal before, but at least now it’s starting to make sense. So you can stop trying to make me back out of this.”

Enjolras hesitated before saying, so softly that Grantaire almost didn’t hear him, “I just...I want you to be safe.”

Grantaire blinked at him, opened his mouth as if to speak, then paused, taking a long moment before saying carefully, “And with you and Combeferre and Courfeyrac looking out for me, I will be.” He hesitated like he wanted to say more, but changed his mind, instead pasting a wide smile on his face. “Now let’s go kick some cestus-butt!”

“That’s not how a cestus works—” Enjolras started, then sighed resignedly and shook his head. “Let’s go kick some cestus-butt.”


	12. Nothing Behind, Everything Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Kerouac - "Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road." Because just calling this chapter "On the Road" seemed a little too easy.

After saying their goodbyes (Dionysus waving them off with a muttered, “Yes, yes, good riddance and get out”), Percy drove the four into the city to pick up the Megabus to Philly. “I don’t know if I’ll be here when you get back, so make sure you Iris-message me about your quest, ok?” Percy said, looking like a concerned mom as he watched them clamber out of the camp van.

Grantaire nudged Courfeyrac. “Iris-message?”

“I’ll explain later,” Courfeyrac told him.

They shouldered their backpacks, waved goodbye to Percy and headed into the Port  Authority, where Grantaire made a beeline for the first payphone that he saw. Thankfully, someone at camp had thoughtfully included a bag of change in his backpack and he fed a few quarters into the payphone, punched in his parents’ number and waited. After a long moment, his mother answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom,” Grantaire said, suddenly keenly aware of the strange relief and bizarre emptiness he felt knowing that somewhere out there, his parents were continuing with their lives as if nothing had changed in the past twenty-four hours. “It’s me.”

There was a pause as Grantaire’s mom inevitably tried to remember if she’d seen her son recently. “You didn’t come home last night,” she said after a long moment. “Your father was furious.”

Grantaire sincerely doubted his father had even noticed his absence. “Yeah, sorry about that, and sorry for not calling sooner, but I lost my cellphone and we had this class trip that I totally forgot about.”

For any other parent, Grantaire suspected that explanation wouldn’t hold up, but Grantaire’s parents had never seemed to care where he was or what he was doing so long as he wasn’t doing anything that would embarrass them. “Alright, then we’ll see you when you get home,” his mom told him. “I’ve got another call that I need to take, but have fun!”

The line went dead and Grantaire pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it for a moment before dropping it back in its cradle. Courfeyrac stood nearby, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Combeferre went to pick up our tickets,” he reported. “Was your mom worried?”

“No,” Grantaire said shortly, not wanting to discuss it. “Where did Enjolras go?”

Courfeyrac frowned but clearly decided not to pursue questions about Grantaire’s parents. “He went to scout the terminal, make sure that there aren’t any monsters.”

Grantaire blinked at him. “And what’s he going to do if he finds one?” he asked. “Whip out his spear and stab it to death in the middle of Port Authority?”

“Probably,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully. “No one would notice, or if they saw something, it’d be two guys fist-fighting or something like that.” He glanced at Grantaire and amended, “At least,  _ most _ people wouldn’t notice.”

Shaking his head, Grantaire slumped down onto a bench. “Even after all this time and everything I’ve seen, I still can’t wrap my mind around the power of this stupid Mist.”

Courfeyrac plopped down next to him. “Well, if it makes you feel better, demigods can be fooled by the Mist, too. I mean, we have an easier time of it than most mortals, but...people see what they want to see. And honestly that can be even more powerful than the Mist.” 

Combeferre joined them, looking frazzled. “Enjolras should really have been the one doing that so that he could sweet talk the woman at the counter into getting us on a bus that doesn’t leave in five minutes.”

“Five minutes?” Courfeyrac yelped, jumping to his feet and looking wildly around. “Where’s Enjolras? We have to go if we’re going to make it!”

Combeferre handed Courfeyrac a ticket and pushed him in the direction of the terminal. “Take Grantaire,” he ordered. “I’ll find Enjolras and we’ll meet you there.”

Courfeyrac grabbed Grantaire’s wrist, yanking him off the bench and pulling him into a frantic jog toward the bus. “Dude, we have five minutes,” Grantaire huffed. “The panic seems just a little bit premature.”

Throwing a look over his shoulder, Courfeyrac told him shortly, “You haven’t seen Enjolras when he’s pissed. Trust me, there’s plenty of reason to panic.”

They made it to the bus with a healthy two and a half minutes to spare, and Courfeyrac sank into a seat, nodding towards the one behind him for Grantaire, who sat, feeling winded. “You know, it probably doesn’t bode well for me that a brisk walk through a bus terminal has me this out of breath,” he joked.

“Yeah, let’s hope we don’t have to do much running,” Courfeyrac said, completely serious, and Grantaire crossed his arms in front of his chest, resisting the urge to pout. “And there’s Combeferre and Enjolras. Good, at least they won’t miss the bus, because that would have sucked.”

“What would we have done if they had?” Grantaire asked, watching as Enjolras tucked his dagger into his belt.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Dunno. They probably could have caught a flight on a pegasus, maybe. Enjolras is really good at whistling them down. Or taken the Gray Sisters, although the price of that taxi ride…”

He let out a low whistle and Grantaire made a face, remembering his own ride with the creepy old ladies just the day before. “Well at least we don’t have to worry about that now,” he said.

“Worry about what?” Combeferre asked, taking the proffered seat next to Courfeyrac. Enjolras paused for a second before sliding in next to Grantaire, who quickly looked away. 

Courfeyrac just smiled at Combeferre. “Nothing,” he said cheerfully, pulling Combeferre in by the collar of his shirt to kiss him. 

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Before you get too involved with that,” he said, a touch of impatience in his voice, “we should really discuss strategy for what we’ll do when we’re in Philadelphia. Not to sound like a white person in a bad horror film, but I think we need to split up. Combeferre, why don’t you take Grantaire and check out some of the more historic sites, the ones that have Greek influence in architecture? I’ll take Courfeyrac and we’ll scope out places related to Aphrodite.”

“Why don’t I get to go with Combeferre?” Courfeyrac asked, frowning.

Combeferre patted his knee. “Because if you went with me, we wouldn’t actually get anything accomplished,” he told him patiently, and Courfeyrac just grinned wickedly in response and kissed him again.

Rolling his eyes, Enjolras said loudly, “Anyway, are we in agreement of this plan?”

Courfeyrac disengaged from Combeferre just long enough to give him the finger before launching himself back at Combeferre in a particularly expressive show of passion that left Enjolras and Grantaire staring. “Huh,” Grantaire said speculatively. “So that’s…”

“Revolting,” Enjolras said, disgust clear in his voice. “It looks like Courfeyrac’s trying to examine Combeferre’s tonsils with his tongue.”

“Well, it could be worse,” Grantaire pointed out. “At least he’s not trying to examine Combeferre’s prostate.”

Enjolras just groaned. “ _ Why _ would you put that image in my head?” he demanded, slumping down in his seat and staring past Grantaire out the window, as if the city blurring by might erase the image from his memory.

Grantaire glanced over at him, an amused expression on his face. “Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but.

Though Enjolras hmphed, he didn’t seem too angry, instead looking at Grantaire with something hesitant in his expression. “I hope you don’t mind going with Combeferre in Philly,” he said. “Combeferre’s got the best eye amongst us for Greek architecture, and I thought you might want to see some of the historic buildings.”

For a moment, what Enjolras had said didn’t even register, but then Grantaire stared at him, his mouth agape. “That’s…” he started, before pausing and shaking his head. “Thanks. That’s actually...really nice of you.”

Enjolras smiled slightly. “You sound surprised,” he noted. “Did I ever give you the impression that I’m  _ not _ nice?”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Well, kinda, yeah. I mean, it’s like I never know what version of you I’m going to get.”

Now Enjolras’s smile faded. “What version of me?” he asked, something dark in his tone.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said. He gestured vaguely towards Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “I mean, look, everyone’s treated me like I’m kind of insignificant because I’m a mortal, and I totally get that, but you...you seem to go from being pretty chill to wanting absolutely nothing to do with me and being…”

He trailed off, but Enjolras nodded, a pink tinge to his cheeks. “I’ve been kind of a dick,” he supplied, and Grantaire’s eyes widened before he shrugged, giving Enjolras a sheepish grin. “Well, you’re not wrong there, I guess.” Enjolras sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, his expression contemplative. “Almost all demigods are raised as mortals, and obviously we have a mortal parent, but most of us haven’t lived fully in the mortal world in a long time. And sometimes...we can forget what it’s like to be a mortal. That’s not an excuse, but it is a reason.”

“No, I get that,” Grantaire said, turning to sit sideways in his seat, propping his back against the bus window, “but you’ve treated me like I’m not just insignificant but completely unwanted. And I’m not saying it’s not unwarranted — definitely wouldn’t be the first time I’ve annoyed someone to the point of not wanting me around — but I honestly don’t think I’ve  _ done _ anything to deserve it.”

A range of emotions flashed across Enjolras’s face, so quickly that Grantaire couldn’t follow. “You haven’t,” he said finally. “It’s...it’s not something you’ve done. It’s not really you at all. Aphrodite — my mother — she picked you, for some reason. And Aphrodite doesn’t just stick people in my life unless she thinks they’re going to cause some kind of drama.” His expression twisted. “Gods know how she loves drama. You should’ve seen her when I came out to my dad.”

Grantaire winced, remembering his own coming out far too well. “I’ll take it that it didn’t go well?”

Enjolras snorted. “Understatement of the century. My dad and I haven’t spoken since. And  _ she _ was there, practically gleeful, wearing a freaking PFLAG pin and eating it up.” He sounded bitter and wounded, and Grantaire drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them to him to stop from reaching out to Enjolras, who looked wound so tight that he might snap if he was touched. “You should have heard her talking to my dad. ‘Love is love, and I would know’. And all it did was piss him off more.”

Silence settled between them for a long moment before Grantaire ventured quietly, “And so you haven’t seen him since?”

“No,” Enjolras said shortly. “I left home when I was eleven and managed to find my way to Camp Half-Blood just before I turned 12. And while I do go to school, it’s a progressive school that lets me attend classes virtually a lot of the time.” He took a breath. “Which, personal sob story aside, brings me to my point: I haven’t been around mortals on a consistent basis, and when Aphrodite foisted you on me...I probably didn’t react well.”

Though Grantaire nodded, understanding for the first time that he and Enjolras might perhaps have something in common, he couldn’t help but note offhandedly, “Be that as it may, you still haven’t apologized.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Enjolras’s face and he huffed a sigh. “Look, my life is complicated. There’s a lot going on right now and if I’ve treated you poorly because of it, then I’m sorry.”

Had Grantaire been a smarter guy, he probably would’ve accepted the apology and moved on, but no one had ever accused Grantaire of being smart. “Complicated like that prophecy that no one will tell me about?” he asked innocently. “The one from Rachel and the Sybel-whatsit books?”

Enjolras’s eyes flashed over to his, and for a moment, he looked angry, but then his expression smoothed and his lips even twitched toward a smile. “Yeah, that’s a part of it.”

“So what’s the deal with this prophecy anyway?” Grantaire asked, picking at a hole in his jeans. “All anyone will tell me is that it’s personal and Aphrodite got involved.” He chanced a look up at Enjolras. “Another one of those drama-causing moments by your mom?”

“Something like that anyway,” Enjolras muttered, looking not at Grantaire but towards Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who were still engaged in seemingly the world’s longest makeout session, something unreadable in his expression. “Aphrodite personally went to Rachel to appeal for a prophecy from the Oracle for me, ostensibly so that I could have a quest, but the prophecy Rachel gave me…” His expression darkened. “The prophecy states that I’ll have to give something up, and it’s not something that I can just...give up on.”

Grantaire was sorely tempted to ask,  _ But what does that have to do with me? _ Because he couldn’t shake the feeling that this prophecy did indeed have something to do with him. But he chose not to say anything, instead nodding and leaning back against the window, feeling the cool pane against the back of his head. After a long moment, Enjolras glanced over at him, giving him a grimace of a smile. “So anyway, that’s enough about my family,” he said with a forced laugh. “Now that you know way too much about me, why don’t you tell me about you and your family?”

Grantaire snorted. “You don’t want to hear about my family,” he told Enjolras, who looked affronted.

“Of course I do,” he said, a touch of his old heat in his voice. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. Besides, I told you mine, so you should tell me yours.”

It was a petulant, almost childish thing to say, but Grantaire found with Enjolras looking at him like that with just a hint of a pout on his face, he was absolutely powerless to resist. So he sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “There’s really not much to tell,” he said carefully. “My dad works all the time. When I was little, my mom and I would travel with him, but my mom got tired of that pretty quickly. It interfered with her social schedule.”

He practically spat the words, disdain clear in his voice, and Enjolras nodded in understanding. “So, yeah. My dad wasn’t around, my mom wanted nothing to do with me, and to top it off, they both think I’m crazy because of all the things that I see that they don’t.”

Now Enjolras looked sympathetic. “I’m sure they don’t think you’re crazy—” he started, but Grantaire cut him off.

“They had dragged me to every major psychiatrist in the city by the time I was 12 to try to diagnose me with schizophrenia or something similar so that they could dump me off at the nearest institution.”

That shut Enjolras up, and Grantaire just laughed, low and bitter. “To them, I’m an inconvenience, someone who’s only liable to fuck up and see something I shouldn’t at the wrong time. It became easier to pretend that I didn’t see anything at all. Now they just think that I was making things up for attention.” He shook his head. “You have no idea how much I used to wish that there was someplace I could run away to, someplace with people like me who thought I was normal. Someplace…” To his horror, he started choking up, and he quickly looked away, waiting for the temporary threat of tears to subside before finishing in a rough whisper, “someplace where I belonged.”

For a long moment, Enjolras was silent, and Grantaire couldn’t bear to look at him, feeling like an utter idiot. Then, in a voice laced with honesty, Enjolras told him quietly, “You may be an inconvenience and a mortal and the more I hang out with you, the more I’m coming to realize you’re going to be an utter pain in the ass, but you belong here, ok? You belong on this quest and you belong with us.”

Grantaire looked over at him, surprised by the earnest look on his face. “Careful,” he said, slipping back into his well-established defense of humor, “or I might start to think you actually care.”

Enjolras snorted and shook his head. “And if you keep this up, I might start to think your whole cynic schtick is nothing more than an act,” he said, his tone teasing.

“Never,” Grantaire said, mock-scandalized, and Enjolras laughed. They fell into silence, but it was more comfortable than before. After a few moments of quiet, Grantaire checked his watch and sighed. “I hate silence,” he told Enjolras, who just raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “And we still have an hour until we get to Philadelphia. So...you might as well know that Courfeyrac told me a little bit about your Cause.”

Enjolras’s eyes lit up. “Do you want me to tell you more about it?” he asked eagerly.

Grantaire sighed again and settled back into his seat. “I’m not entirely sure that I have a choice, but fair warning — despite what you may think, the cynicism’s not an act, and I’m not going to be easy to convince. And don’t try using your Aphrodite mumbo-jumbo magic on me, because it ain’t gonna work.”

Enjolras just grinned. “No charmspeak,” he promised, his eyes gleaming. “And challenge accepted.”


	13. The City of Brotherly Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having been to Philadelphia a grand total of twice, everything I mention regarding the city was gleaned from Google, so if I have any readers from Philly and I got something wrong, I apologize in advance.

When the bus finally arrived in Philadelphia, Grantaire, Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac disembarked. Of the four, Grantaire and Courfeyrac shared almost identical, smug grins — Courfeyrac because of Combeferre’s red face, dishevelled hair, and what looked suspiciously like a hickey developing on the side of his neck; Grantaire because of Enjolras’s face, red from first disbelief and then anger that Grantaire would so blithely poke holes in the majority of Enjolras’s points about the Cause during their hour-long debate on the bus.

Needless to say, Enjolras looked like he needed a good few hours away from Grantaire, and he grabbed Courfeyrac’s arm with perhaps more force than necessary, yanking him away from Combeferre. “Are we set?” he asked, a touch sharply. “We’ll split up and meet back here in four hours if we don’t find anything.”

“Ready as can be,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully.

Grantaire, however, frowned slightly. “Hang on a second,” he said. “No one’s told me who exactly we’re looking for, which might make it difficult for me to spot him.”

Enjolras and Combeferre exchanged glances, and Grantaire sensed a silent conversation going on. Then Enjolras sighed and looked at Grantaire, his expression dark. “We’re looking for a child of Aphrodite named Eros,” he said stiffly.

Grantaire just stared at him with a blank face, clearly waiting for more explanation. Combeferre cleared his throat and Grantaire glanced over at him. “You may know him by another name,” Combeferre said carefully. “In Rome, they called him Cupid.”

First shock and then something close to humor flitted across Grantaire’s expression, but Enjolras didn’t wait for him to say anything. “We’ll see you later,” he said shortly, and then he and Courfeyrac jogged off. 

Grantaire just looked at Combeferre, amazed. “Cupid?” he repeated with a laugh.

Combeferre looked anything but amused. “It’s not exactly like the Cupid from Valentine’s Day cards,” he warned, digging around in his backpack and pulling out a guidebook to Philadelphia. “Eros can be a very dangerous god.”

“Yeah, but...Cupid?”

Shaking his head, Combeferre said distractedly, “He’s not a little baby with wings, he’s a god, and trust me, he can make your life hell.” He paused, examining something in the guidebook carefully before announcing, “If you’re done with the whole Cupid thing, we’ll start at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.”

Grantaire was anything but done with the Cupid thing. For starters, he hadn’t quite comprehended who all of Aphrodite’s other children were (hey, he had never actually studied any of this Greek stuff, so forgive him for getting the family trees a little confused), so it had never occurred to him that Enjolras’s brother would be  _ Cupid _ , of all the gods.

Not only that, but both Combeferre and Enjolras had implied that Cupid was  _ dangerous _ , and while Grantaire was quickly learning not to underestimate the gods, he still couldn’t imagine that a god like Cupid could be that dangerous, and he mentioned as such to Combeferre as he followed him down the street. Combeferre shook his head, not looking up from his guidebook. “That because you’re not seeing love itself as dangerous when I’d argue it’s one of the most dangerous and even destructive things throughout history.”

Grantaire snorted. “Ah, yes, between the atomic bomb and love, I can see how it would be a real contest.”

Now Combeferre did look up, a small wrinkle between his eyes, but he didn’t look angry at Grantaire’s skepticism, the way a certain blond demigod might have been. Instead, he looked almost...pleased, as if he was excited that Grantaire was continuing the argument. “That’s exactly it, though,” he said, something eager in his tone. “Look at all of the great battles that have ever been fought throughout history, and most can be boiled down to love. The obvious ones, sure — Helen of Troy comes to mind, of course — but the not-so-obvious as well. Don’t forget, patriotism is a form of love — love for one’s country — and most soldiers or warriors who went off to war did so to protect their families — yet another type of love. And that kind of love can be twisted to accomplish all manners of terrors.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Grantaire allowed, though he clearly wasn’t convinced, “but Cupid isn’t in charge of patriotism, or family, right? So what makes him in particular so dangerous?”

Combeferre shrugged. “Romantic love and sexual lust can drive a person insane,” he said matter-of-factly. “A well-timed arrow from Eros’s quiver could break friendships, marriages, families, even nations. Falling in and out of love can have disastrous and far-reaching results.” He paused before adding, “And love also has the power to create and join together. Even the gods aren’t immune to the powers of love and lust, which has been the driving force behind quite a few of those wars. Like I said — most powerful force in the world.”

Grantaire shook his head. “You sound like you’ve been reading too much  _ Harry Potter _ ,” he said.

Laughing slightly, Combeferre shook his head. “While, yes, I’ve been known to read  _ Harry Potter  _ more than once, this has nothing to do with that — Harry defeats Voldemort because Voldemort doesn’t understand love and doesn’t feel love. Real life is rarely so binary, and enemies throughout Greek history have also felt the power and magic of love.”

Though Grantaire snorted, he also glanced at Combeferre appraisingly. “Now you sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he remarked. “You and Courfeyrac must really have something great.”

Combeferre’s smile faded and he looked away. “We do,” he said tightly, and looked back at his guidebook before changing the subject. “Did you know that Julian Abele, chief designer of the Philadelphia Art Museum who was inspired by the temples in Greece, was the first African-American graduate of the University of Pennsyvania’s architecture school?”

The change in subject seemed deliberate, and Grantaire had the good sense to drop the topic of Cupid and love, at least for the moment. The downside was that Combeferre took his silence as permission to spend the entire walk to the art museum reading facts about the museum aloud to Grantaire, who wished he had headphones or earplugs or anything to block out the stream of unnecessary information. He settled for putting on his most Enjolras-like scowl and watching the sights as they walked past.

Unfortunately, despite the clear Grecian influence at the museum, they didn’t find any trace of Eros (at least, Grantaire assumed as much — he still wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, and all Combeferre told him, quite unhelpfully, was, “You’ll know him when he’s there.”). They also didn’t find Eros at any of the dozen-odd other places Combeferre dragged him to.

By the time they were done at the Masonic Temple with its spectacular Corinthian Hall, Grantaire was tired and cranky, and he plopped down in the shade outside the building, not caring if he got dirty from the sidewalk. “So that was a bust,” he said bluntly, pausing before adding, in a slightly nicer tone, “A very beautiful detour, but a bust nonetheless.”

Combeferre made a noncommittal noise, scanning through his guidebook and Grantaire sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “At this rate, you might as well just pick a random building and hope for the best,” he groaned, looking up to glance blearily around them. “Like, there for instance. It’s big. It’s old. May as well look there.”

“City Hall?” Combeferre asked distractedly, squinting in the direction Grantaire was pointing before shaking his head and returning to his guidebook. “No, it’s Second Empire style with Baroque influences, not Greek.”

Grantaire snorted. “Well, as I always say — if it’s not Baroque, don’t fix it.” The reference clearly flew over Combeferre’s head, as he made no attempt to respond, and Grantaire sighed again, leaning back against the building. “You know, maybe we’re going about this the wrong way. We’re assuming that Eros is going to be where there’s Greek influence, but what if he’s somewhere where there’s, I don’t know, a strong influence of love?”

It sounded stupid to even say it, but no stupider than wandering around a city for hours and having nothing to show for it. Combeferre looked up at him, frowning. “That’s exactly what Enjolras and Courfeyrac are doing,” he told him, sounding a little surprised. “I assumed Enjolras had told you.”

“No, he just said that he would be looking for places influenced by Aphrodite,” Grantaire said. “Do you mean he can like...sense love?”

He was horrified by the thought. Not that he  _ loved _ Enjolras or something stupid like that — he barely knew him, after all (though it also unsettled him as he realized that he had told Enjolras more about himself that day than he had told any other living soul) — but just because the idea was, well, horrific. To have your deepest feelings laid bare like that…

Combeferre laughed and Grantaire looked up at him, startled. “Gods, no,” he practically chortled. “Could you imagine Enjolras being able to sense something like that?”

Grantaire smiled slightly, feeling better. “Yeah, he’d be pretty miserable at that.”

“That, my friend, is an understatement,” Combeferre said, still grinning. “So, no, I’m afraid he can’t sense love. But…it’s hard to explain. Some things just leave a trace, like how Joly can generally tell if you’ve been injured recently and Bahorel knows where every battle basically ever has been fought.”

Nodding slowly, Grantaire sighed again, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “So I guess we’re back to searching random buildings,” he muttered. Combeferre made a noncommittal noise and Grantaire sighed once more. “At least, random buildings besides City Hall, since it’s, you know, Baroque.”

Combeferre hummed in agreement. A small cooing sound came from near Grantaire and he opened his eyes, turning his head to see a pure-white pigeon staring up at him with surprisingly intelligent black eyes. “Uh,” Grantaire said, trying to make a sudden move in case it scared the bird away, “pigeons don’t happen to be associated with Cupid, do they?”

“No,” Combeferre said, and Grantaire slumped down again, disappointed. But then Combeferre added, “But doves are a symbol of Aphrodite, and doves and pigeons are in the same family, Columbidae.”

Grantaire eyed the bird carefully, wondering if he should ask it a question, or if the bird would show him where to go, or what. The bird continued to stare up at him, and Grantaire stared back at it before asking quietly, mostly so that Combeferre wouldn’t hear him and think he was crazy, “Do you know where Eros is?”

In response, the dove cooed again and flew off, winging in a circle above Grantaire’s head before taking off towards the park across from City Hall. Grantaire slowly stood, hardly believing his eyes as he watched the bird fly towards a sculpture that hundreds of tourists were trying to take their picture with. “Um, Combeferre,” Grantaire said, his voice strange to his own ears. “I think I may know one place we might want to try looking.”

Combeferre looked over at him before turning to look at where Grantaire pointed, comprehension immediately dawning on his face. “Well, it’s not Greek, but it’d be kind of stupid not to at least check,” Combeferre said. 

With that, they grabbed their stuff and headed across the street to the sculpture of four letters — LOVE. They pushed through the throngs of tourists and halted in front of the sculpture, glancing first at it and then each other. Combeferre seemed unusually on edge, and Grantaire frowned, beginning to ask what was the matter when a sudden breeze whipped past them, so strong it almost knocked them off their feet.

Now Combeferre looked almost terrified, and Grantaire stared at him. “What is it?” he asked, almost having to yell to be heard over the wind.

Before Combeferre could answer, a low, deep and sinister laugh sounded on the wind, and Grantaire felt a cold shiver down his spine. Combeferre stared at him, eyes wide, and he swallowed hard before telling Grantaire, “It’s Eros. You were right — he’s here.”


	14. Confrontation With Cupid

The laugh sounded again and Grantaire gripped the hilt of his sword, staring around the park.  _ Well spotted, son of Athena _ , a voice that Grantaire could only assume was Eros said.  _ And here I thought you would never learn to recognize me. _

Grantaire drew his sword, though he didn’t have the first clue where to strike. “Where are you?” he shouted, vaguely aware of the fact that none of the milling tourists seemed to even notice what was happening, that the wind that whipped around him and Combeferre didn’t seem to affect them at all.

_ Everywhere _ , the voice said in Grantaire’s ear,  _ if you know where to look. But you don’t interest me, mortal. _

“Oh, I really wish you gods would stop saying things like that,” Grantaire said through clenched teeth.

Eros laughed again.  _ Oh, it’s not because you’re mortal. Mortal or immortal alike, I care only about love. But you carry my mother’s blessing, and besides, you’ve already found your true love, haven’t you? _

Grantaire felt his ears burn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, but Eros ignored him, judging by the way the wind grew stronger around Combeferre. 

Combeferre did not reach for his weapon, though whether that was because he knew that it would do no good, or because he was too frightened to move, Grantaire couldn’t tell.  _ But you, son of Athena  _ — _ you interest me greatly. _

Combeferre flinched at that, and Grantaire started towards him automatically. “I don’t see why he would interest you,” he said, hoping to bring the god’s attention back to himself. “He’s found love, too — right, Combeferre?”

To his surprise, Combeferre just shook his head, staring down at the ground, and Eros laughed.  _ What, the son of Hermes? _ he asked, amused.  _ A delightful way to pass the time, if those marks on your neck are to be believed _ . Combeferre raised a shaking hand to the hickies on his neck.  _ But he is little more than a distraction. Combeferre and I both know who he really loves, if only he would admit it to himself. _

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Grantaire told him scornfully, but he hesitated when he saw the look on Combeferre’s face. “He doesn’t, does he?”

Without warning, an arrow struck the ground at Grantaire’s feet, and he yelped and leapt backward, his sword clattering from his hand.  _ Be silent, mortal, _ Eros snarled.  _ It is you who knows not of what you speak.  _ In an instant, his voice had changed again, becoming almost soothing as it wrapped around Combeferre like the coils of a snake.  _ After all, it was my arrow that struck him and filled his heart with love _ .

Grantaire glanced over at Combeferre and froze, feeling simultaneously mortified and anguished. Combeferre was crying.  _ Poor Combeferre _ , Eros crooned smugly.  _ After that whole business with the prophecy, Aphrodite wanted to make amends with her son, and what better way than love? So she chose his best friend, the one person he was closest with than any other. And my arrow struck true. _

Slowly getting to his feet, Grantaire made as if to reach out to Combeferre, who stood frozen, but another arrow hit the ground at his feet, bursting into flame.  _ It would have been so perfect, _ Eros mused, something almost wistful in his tone.  _ A son of Aphrodite and a son of Athena  _ — _ passion and brilliance welded together. You would have been unstoppable. _ Combeferre shook his head slowly, his expression pained, and Eros paused for a moment before adding cruelly,  _ But Enjolras didn’t want you, did he? _

Grantaire did not wait to hear more, swinging his sword so wildly that his old fencing instructor would have fainted at the sight. But somehow, his blade struck true, connecting with something solid, and a golden liquid splattered to the ground.  _ Like a true mortal _ , Eros taunted,  _ fumbling around in the dark until you somehow strike love _ .

“Hey, if it works, it works,” Grantaire muttered, shifting into a defensive stance. “Now stop playing games and show yourself!”

_ Oh, but I’m not playing games, _ Eros said.  _ Love is no game. Games have rules and love follows none. Games are fair, and love never is. And Combeferre knows that more than any. _

Eros loosed another arrow, this time striking Combeferre in the chest. Instead of wounding him, a strange shadow seemed to spiral out from the arrow, making Combeferre look suddenly as sinister as Eros’s voice. When he spoke again, there was something savage in Eros’s voice, a hunger that made Grantaire’s skin crawl.  _ Courfeyrac may be a pleasant distraction, sweet and charming, but love is not so easily denied. And Courfeyrac is no Enjolras _ .

“No...Enjolras,” Combeferre repeated, his voice and gaze distant.

_ No,  _ Eros agreed.  _ Enjolras is brilliant and gorgeous and everything you’ve ever wanted, isn’t he? You would fit together so perfectly. And in the end, Courfeyrac can never be what you want _ .

“You’re wrong,” Grantaire said, his voice cutting across the park like a whip. “Combeferre, listen to me!”

He may have been a mortal, he may have had no powers to speak of, but in that park, standing between a son of Athena and a god, Grantaire knew he had to try. “From the moment I saw you and Courfeyrac, I knew you were perfect for each other,” he told Combeferre urgently, trying to pour as much honesty as he could muster into his voice. “Don’t listen to Eros. Courfeyrac loves you, and I know you love him.”

For a moment, it looked like Combeferre might believe him — his expression cleared, and he shook his head as if to clear it as well. But then Eros laughed again.  _ You think I lie _ , he said, amused.  _ But in love there is only truth. _

With that, Eros struck, knocking Grantaire off his feet once more before turning his attention back to Combeferre.  _ And the truth is simple. Enjolras could have had you, the one who was perfect for him, but he did not return your affections. Instead, he chose this cowering, weak, worthless mortal. _

Eros spoke with the same power that Grantaire had heard in Enjolras’s voice, but magnified exponentially. Combeferre looked over at Grantaire, and Grantaire did indeed cower away from the look on his face, the pain and fury mingled together and directed right at him.  _ How could a demigod as beautiful and powerful as Enjolras choose him? _ Eros asked, and Grantaire wondered if he alone could hear the sly grin in Eros’s voice.  _ He doesn’t deserve Enjolras.  _

“No,” Combeferre agreed, for the first time drawing his sword, and Grantaire let out a particularly dignified squeak as he scooted away from Combeferre. “He doesn’t deserve him.”

Grantaire held up his hands placatingly as Combeferre slowly approached him, his sword held in front of him. “Combeferre, listen to me,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. “You don’t want to do this. Whatever is going on between you and Enjolras — I have nothing to do with that. Enjolras doesn’t even like me as, like, a human, let alone like...that.”

Combeferre did not respond, and his eyes seemed clouded.  _ You think I would lie about Enjolras’s feelings?  _ Eros asked.  _ Combeferre knows I speak the truth. After all, what reason would I have to lie? _

“Uh, to get Combeferre to kill me,” Grantaire said, as if it was obvious. “I mean, everyone keeps saying celestial bronze can’t harm mortals, but I don’t exactly want to be a guinea pig.”

_ But I don’t want to harm you at all, _ Eros said, as it was obvious, which, with the way Combeferre was still looking at him, was anything but.  _ Enjolras and Combeferre, however, have been denying me for too long. And what better way to get your darling Enjolras to finally admit how he feels than by watching as his best friend attacks you? _

Grantaire laughed. He hadn’t meant to — the situation certainly merited a more serious response — but he couldn’t help himself. “Dude, is that really your master plan? Man, you should really stick to whole love thing — evil plans are definitely not your strong suit.” Eros struck him again, causing him to roll across the ground, and Grantaire lifted a hand to his cheek and the rapid bruise he could already feel forming. “I guess I hit a nerve.”

Luckily, Eros’s blow had actually pushed him closer to his sword, and Grantaire grabbed it and scrambled to his feet, keeping a wary eye on Combeferre even as he spoke to Eros. “Why are you doing this to Enjolras, anyway? Isn’t he sort of your brother?”

_ I shall assume you are an only child  _ — _ fighting is what siblings do to get their mother’s attention, is it not? _

Once again, Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh. “Firstly, pathetic reason for doing anything. Secondly, I never knew gods were as predictable and lame as mortals. Thirdly—”

He didn’t get a chance to list his third thing because Combeferre chose that moment to strike, rushing toward Grantaire, sword raised. Though Grantaire just managed to sidestep, his sword rising automatically in a weak attempt to parry, Combeferre seemed to turn on a dime to face him, the same blank look on his face, and Grantaire gulped.

While he would later say that he and Combeferre had a heroic battle against each other with both being equally matched, the truth was closer to Grantaire getting his ass handed to him in a matter of moments. As good as Grantaire may have been at fencing at one point in time, it was no match for the Greek style of fighting, and within only a few moves, Combeferre had disarmed him.

The blood seemed to drain out of Grantaire’s face as stared from his sword spinning away across the ground to Combeferre, who was slowly advancing, Eros egging him on.  _ Enjolras never loved you, _ Eros told Combeferre tauntingly.  _ Never returned your affections, never even gave you a second glance, did he? _

“Combeferre,” Grantaire started, panting from exertion and scrambling for something to say as Combeferre came within a sword length of him, “I’m—”

_ What? _ Eros demanded triumphantly.  _ What could you possibly have to say to get yourself out of this? _

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said simply, his hands falling to his side, and Combeferre paused in his step. “I’m sorry that Eros did this to you, and I’m sorry that Enjolras didn’t fall for you. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.” Combeferre seemed frozen, and Grantaire barrelled ahead. “Think of all the different types of love you talked about today. Don’t you see? Enjolras  _ does _ love you. You’re...you’re brothers, best friends. And whatever he feels for—” He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘me’, couldn’t even wrap his mind around that yet “—for someone else, that will never change.” For a moment, Combeferre looked conflicted, and Grantaire seized on his hesitation. “True love isn’t always romantic, but that doesn’t make it any less real.”

This time, Grantaire was expecting the blow from Eros, but it didn’t make it hurt any less, and he looked up at Combeferre through watering eyes. “If you truly believe in Enjolras’s Cause — in  _ your _ Cause — don’t you think that Enjolras should be able to decide for himself who he loves?” he managed through gritted teeth. “Because I know he would think that you do. Enjolras wouldn’t want this for you. He knows that there are more important things in life than being in love.”

_ Fool _ , Eros sneered.  _ What could be more important than love? _

It was Combeferre who answered, lowering his sword, his eyes once again clear. “To be free.”

With that, he threw his sword on the ground, and Grantaire barely contained the urge to cheer (though he might’ve punched the air a little in celebration). “You may have struck me with your arrow, but I’m a son of Athena and I can still choose my own freedom.”

To Grantaire’s surprise, when Eros next spoke, the jeer was completely gone from his voice; he sounded old, and tired.  _ If you wish to be free of me, then you know what you must do. _

Combeferre nodded, looking at the four letters of the sculpture in front of him. “I have to admit what I've been trying to deny,” he said quietly, and then, in an even softer voice, “I love Enjolras.”

The wind settled almost completely in the park, and Grantaire glanced around, both surprised and not that the tourists were still there, snapping pictures of the sculpture and oblivious to the two of them standing right in front of them, bruised and bloody.

“I love Enjolras,” Combeferre repeated, his voice stronger, and he picked his sword up from where he had dropped it, holding it unwaveringly in front of him. “I will love him until the day I die.” He did not look at Grantaire,instead raising his gaze from the sculpture to look at the sky. “But I chose Courfeyrac. And I choose to be happy with him, and maybe even to love him one day. And—” He hesitated, his gaze flickering over to Grantaire before he looked away again. “—And I want Enjolras to be happy, too, no matter who he’s chosen.”

As soon as his words were finished, Eros became visible, leaning against the sculpture and watching Combeferre, equal parts sadness and satisfaction on his handsome face, his white wings tucked behind him. “To be free of me, you must face me. It is a truth all must learn, in their time.”

He switched his gaze to Grantaire, who flinched at the sight of the god’s blood-red eyes. “It is a lesson Enjolras must learn, too, and sooner rather than later.”

Grantaire snorted. “Well I'm certainly not going to be the one to tell him that.”

Eros smiled grimly. “No need. He approaches now, and I can tell him myself.”


	15. Aftermath of Eros

Grantaire saw first the white dove as it fluttered in front of the statue, followed by Courfeyrac and Enjolras, who were both out of breath. “Dude, and you made fun of me for being winded?” Grantaire said to Courfeyrac, who gave him the finger.

“We ran from across town,” Enjolras said, eyeing Eros carefully. “When the dove appeared, I knew we should follow it. And it looks like we barely made it in time.” His gaze flickered from Combeferre, who was sopping up a nosebleed and determinedly not looking at Enjolras, to Grantaire, who could feel the shiner forming around his left eye. “Are you both alright?”

Grantaire saved Combeferre from having to answer. “Oh, we’re dandy. Just getting acquainted with your brother, who’s a real peach, by the way. The apple falls far, far away from the tree.”

Eros laughed, and Enjolras glared at him. “As far as mortals go, you have chosen well. He has a certain pluck that will serve you well, on this quest and beyond.”

Enjolras’s grip tightened on his spear, and he took a step closer to Eros, a dark expression on his face. “I don’t know what you did to hurt either of them,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet, “but I’m not afraid of you. And I am more than happy to make you bleed.”

“Peace, brother,” Eros said easily, fluttering forward, his wings unfurling to their full, and frankly magnificent length. “We had a mere disagreement, your  _ friends _ and I.” He said the word friends in a taunting, almost sexual tone, and Grantaire could feel himself blush, and he forced himself not to look at Enjolras, instead watching as Courfeyrac took Combeferre’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Besides, believing that you have somehow transcended love is not the same as not fearing it. And there are none so blind as those who will not see.”

“Dude, do you always sound like you’ve swallowed a greeting card, or is that a side effect of being associated with the world’s worst holiday?” Grantaire asked.

Courfeyrac laughed and even Combeferre managed a tiny smile while Enjolras looked torn between exasperation and amusement. Eros did not look amused, and he merely gave Grantaire a cold once-over before telling Enjolras, “Your time of choosing is closer than you think, but your choice will be made easier if you would face what’s in front of you.”

Enjolras scowled. “At the moment, the only thing in front of me is you and the quest I’m actually on. So why don’t we cut to the chase and you tell me where we’re headed next?”

Eros smiled. “Patience is a virtue you as a child of Aphrodite would do well to learn. After all, love is patient, and endures all. And I am afraid you will have to endure me just a little bit longer.”

“Pretty sure that’s paraphrased from the Bible, which means you’ve moved from spouting greeting cards to quoting scripture,” Grantaire pointed out glibly, and Eros swiveled to glare at him. But Grantaire had had enough of this god and the games he seemed happy to play. “Come on, Enjolras. We don’t have to sit here and listen to this. I bet he doesn’t even know where our next stop is.”

Grantaire wasn’t even sure what he was trying to accomplish with that — pissing Eros off could easily have had unintended and far-reaching consequences — but he was also aware that the longer they stayed talking to Eros, the more likely it was that Eros might reveal something just to spite them all. And he was painfully aware that the last thing any of them needed on this quest was the truth about Combeferre’s feelings coming to life.

After a long moment, Eros switched his gaze from Grantaire to Enjolras, his expression shifting to something almost crafty. “You seek my sister Adrestia next. You’ll find her in Flint, Michigan, if you look near the windflowers that are the symbol of our mother.”

Enjolras looked surprised, then suspicious. “That was a remarkable change in attitude,” he said slowly. “Why are you suddenly so helpful?”

Eros’s smile grew. “As much fun as I could have with you here—” His glance slid over to Combeferre, who raised his chin slightly, a defiant look on his face “—I will have much more fun watching you deal with her. If you still think the choice ahead of you will be easy to make, Adrestia may just give you exactly what you need.”

“And what might that be?” Enjolras asked, almost in spite of himself. 

Eros grinned. “Doubt.” 

With that, he looked over at Grantaire, something flickering in his expression. “You are wise to not trust in love, mortal. Love can be fleeting like the wind, and as you’ve learned today, it can hurt.” Grantaire merely narrowed his eyes at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “But if I may offer any advice, it would be to trust just a little more. I do not know all of what lies ahead for you, but I know you must look for what hope love offers, if you are to make it through.”

Grantaire was surprised, and before he could manage something to say, Eros had moved on to Combeferre, who met his gaze evenly. “As for you, son of Athena, well, I’ll be watching you with interest.”

Enjolras’s grip tightened on his spear as he glanced at Combeferre and back at Eros. “Coming from you, that sounds like a threat.”

Eros just laughed. “There is not much more that I can do to Combeferre that hasn’t already been done. Besides, you have more to worry about with what lies ahead than he. After all, remember what your prophecy says.” His tone turned sing-song. “ _ The finest hour of the dove _ —”

To Grantaire’s surprise, Enjolras practically snarled, and he started toward Eros with his spear raised. But before he could even reach him, Eros dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the echo of his laugh behind. Grantaire’s mind was whirling.  _ The finest hour of the dove _ — that had to refer to the other prophecy, the one Grantaire hadn’t heard. He wondered what could rhyme with ‘dove’ and couldn’t help the feeling that the next line might just end in ‘love’. And if Eros was to be believed, he couldn’t help a feeling that was perhaps closer to a wish that maybe, just maybe that was how he fit into all of this.

Yeah, right.

He quickly turned his attention back to the group, which was slowly stirring, all sharing sideways glances and none willing to be the first to speak. So Grantaire bit the bullet. “Ok, so your brother’s an asshole,” he said matter-of-factly, and everyone turned to stare at him. “Personally, I’d like to vote that we disregard anything that Eros said besides our next location and never mention it again. Deal?”

Courfeyrac laughed and Combeferre managed a shaky smile. “Sounds like as good a plan as any.”

Enjolras frowned. “Grantaire…” he started, concern and something Grantaire couldn’t quite place in his tone, but Grantaire just shook his head.

“No takebacks,” he said brightly. “Now let’s get moving. I’ve never been to Michigan. Should be fun. At least, I somehow doubt it can be worse than Philadelphia.”

Even though Enjolras still looked like he wanted to argue with Grantaire, he nevertheless nodded in acquiescence and jerked his head toward the far side of the park. “Then I guess we’re headed to the airport.”

While Courfeyrac quickly matched Enjolras’s pace, Grantaire lingered behind, waiting for Combeferre, who was looking at the LOVE sculpture, something unreadable in his expression. “Are you ok?” 

Combeferre shrugged. “I honestly don’t know,” he said.

Grantaire shot him a sideways glance, not sure what to say, and after a long moment, he cleared his throat. “You know, Enjolras doesn’t...he doesn’t like me like that,” he told Combeferre awkwardly.

Surprisingly, a hint of a smile touched Combeferre’s lips. “I’ve known Enjolras for years,” he said quietly, “and even if I didn’t believe Eros, I’d believe that I’ve seen with my own eyes.” Grantaire started to speak, then stopped, not sure if he wanted to argue with Combeferre or just accept what he said as true. Combeferre didn’t seem to notice his internal struggle. “Needless to say, nothing today went the way I thought it would. And...I mean...I never intended on anyone finding out about...that.”

Grantaire didn’t need to ask what Combeferre was referring to. “So Enjolras doesn’t know?” he asked. “I mean, obviously Eros didn’t shoot him too, right? Why wouldn’t he have, just to make sure?”

Combeferre shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “I think — and this is just a guess, but I have kind of spent a bit of time thinking about this — I think Aphrodite just assumed that he would like me back.” He forced a laugh. “The arrogance of the gods, right?”

“Because he didn’t like you back,” Grantaire said softly.

Combeferre looked away and was quiet for a long moment before saying, his voice equally soft, “No — honestly, I don’t even think he ever realized I liked him in the first place.”

There wasn’t really anything that Grantaire could say to that, any argument he could make that would somehow make things hurt less. After a long pause, he asked, “And Courfeyrac doesn’t know either?”

“What am I supposed to tell him?” Combeferre asked wryly. “That I’m in love with his best friend? That if Enjolras ever actually gave me a second glance I’d probably break up with him without even stopping to think about it?” He shook his head. “All I’d end up doing is hurting him, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“You could tell him the truth,” Grantaire pointed out. “Because keeping it from him might end up hurting him more in the end.” Combeferre frowned, and Grantaire held up his hands to forestall any protest. “Or don’t. I mean, do what you think is best. But all you Greeks must know about Eros and his arrows, which means if anyone would understand, it’d be Courfeyrac.”

Combeferre shrugged again, giving Grantaire a sideways glance. “You’re being awfully nice, considering...well, considering everything that happened,” he said, a little awkwardly.

Grantaire tilted his head slightly, smiling wryly at Combeferre. “What could you possibly be referring to?” he asked sarcastically. “The part where Eros spilled our deepest secrets without our consent or the part where you tried to kill me because of it?”

Combeferre didn’t smile. “Both, I guess.”

Grantaire shrugged. “What was it they said in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone?” he asked. “Something about how fighting a troll makes you friends?”

It took Combeferre a moment to figure out what Grantaire was referring to, but once he did, he managed a small smile. “There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them,” he quoted.

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, exactly. Well, Eros — he was our twelve-foot mountain troll. Ok?”

Combeferre’s smile grew and he ducked his head, laughing lightly. “Ok.”

There was more that Grantaire wanted to say to him, more he wanted to explain about how much he needed Combeferre to be his friend as the only other person who had witnessed everything that had happened that day, but at that moment, Courfeyrac shouted over at them, “Hey, you two!” They both looked over at him, startled. “Get your booties in gear, would you?”   
  
Grantaire and Combeferre exchanged amused glances before calling back in unison, “Ok!”


	16. Traveling Across the Country is Easier in Movies

Combeferre and Grantaire quickly caught up with Enjolras and Courfeyrac. “So, stupid question,” Grantaire started. “Who’s Adrestia? And if you answer ‘Eros’s sister’, I’ll punch you.”

“To be fair, she  _ is _ Eros’s sister,” Courfeyrac said, grinning, and he dodged Grantaire’s half-hearted punch. “But she’s also the goddess of just retribution, isn’t she?”

Enjolras nodded, a closed look on his face. “Just retribution, divine balance between good and evil. and revolt. I think in contemporary mythology, she gets conflated a lot with her sister Nemesis, but there’s a definite difference between retribution and revenge.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “So let me get this straight — two of your godly half-siblings are the goddesses of revolution and revenge, and the gods are somehow surprised that you want to overthrow the divine order of things?”

Courfeyrac laughed but Enjolras didn’t seem amused. “Anyway,” he said loudly, “I’m assuming that a plane is the fastest way to get to Michigan, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve had just about enough of Philadelphia. What do you think, Combeferre?”

Combeferre just shrugged and Enjolras and Courfeyrac both gave him concerned looks. “Well, as the son of the god of travel, I have to agree, flight seems like the easiest option,” Courfeyrac said. “I mean otherwise, it’ll take, like, what? 16 hours to get to Michigan?”

Grantaire raised his hand. “Yeah, not to throw cold water on this plan, but we may have difficulty getting me a plane ticket.” All three turned to frown at him. “I don’t have a driver’s license or an I.D.”

Enjolras huffed an exasperated sigh, but Combeferre looked confused. “If you don’t have an I.D., how did you get on the Megabus?” he asked.

“Dude, it’s the Megabus,” Courfeyrac said, as if it answered the question. “They don’t care. TSA, however, probably does.”

Grantaire glanced over at Enjolras. “Could you do your whole charmspeak thing and get us past the check-in counter and security?” he asked hopefully.

Scowling, Enjolras shook his head. “Even if I  _ could _ do it, I wouldn’t,” he told Grantaire. “But either way, there’s way too many variables to control at an airport, too many people to have to convince.” He sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “So it looks like flying’s out of the question.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Combeferre said quietly, and they all gave him a quizzical look. “Based on everything that’s happened thus far on this quest, and given that Zeus is probably still ticked about the whole prophecy thing, maybe it’ll be safer to stay on solid ground.”

Courfeyrac beamed at him. “He makes a good point,” he said, leaning in to kiss Combeferre’s cheek. “And besides, we had such a good time on the last bus ride that I’m sure we’ll be able to make the time fly by.”

While Enjolras rolled his eyes, Grantaire rescued Combeferre, who looked uncomfortable. “How about we get back to the bus station before we make any plans for the bus ride itself?” he suggested. “Besides, we can’t all spend the bus ride macking, no matter how much we might want to.” Enjolras turned bright red and Grantaire just smiled blithely at him. “Don’t you have a high opinion of yourself. I never said I wanted to make out with  _ you _ .”

Enjolras’s blush only deepened and even Combeferre managed a laugh. “Come on,” he said, linking his arm with Courfeyrac’s. “Let’s go to the bus station.”

Once at the bus station, Enjolras went to get the tickets, his blush having only slightly receded. Combeferre told them he was going to go scout the station, and Courfeyrac frowned at him. “Would you like some company?” he asked.

Combeferre shook his head. “Actually, I think I want to be alone for a few minutes,” he told Courfeyrac, kissing his cheek before disappearing into the crowd.

Courfeyrac plopped onto the bench next to Grantaire. “Dude, what happened with Eros?” he asked, nodding towards Grantaire’s rather spectacular shiner. 

“Oh, the usual,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “He talked, we fought, what more is there to say?”

Courfeyrac worried his lower lip between his teeth, something dark in his expression. “Something more than that happened,” he said quietly. “Something with Combeferre. Eros...he said something to him, didn’t he?”

Grantaire glanced over at him, his expression softening. “Look, it’s not my place to say anything. If Combeferre wants to tell you, he will.”

Sighing, Courfeyrac shook his head. “Yeah, well, he isn’t always as forthcoming as you might think,” he muttered. “He thinks that I don’t notice...that I don’t pick up on things. But...I do.” Grantaire gave him an inquisitive look, a small frown on his face, and Courfeyrac managed a small smile. “I never thought he would agree to go out with me. But I guess eventually he gave up on…” He trailed off and shook his head again. “I guess he changed his mind.”

“Changed his mind for the better,” Grantaire said quietly, and Courfeyrac shrugged, not looking at him.

“Maybe. That remains to be seen.” He looked away before saying softly, “I just want to know he’s ok.”

Grantaire smiled. “You know what?” he said, nudging Courfeyrac companionably. “I think he just might be. Just give him a little time. I don’t think Eros did anything that can’t eventually be undone.”

Courfeyrac and Grantaire shared a smile and Enjolras rejoined them, looking miffed. “It’s an almost 15 hour drive to Detroit, and then we have to take another bus to Flint,” he told them both. “If we don’t all kill each other by the end of this, it’ll be a miracle.”

Yawning, Grantaire winked at Enjolras. “Thankfully, I’m too tired to murder anyone right now. So as long as we sit in front of Combeferre and Courfeyrac this time so as to avoid having to watch them make out, I think it might be easier than you think to avoid homicide.”

“When did you become such an optimist?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

Grantaire smirked. “Still a realist. And I just realistically think that we might avoid death on this fantastic trip across the country.”

Combeferre joined them as well, sheathing his sword. “Oh, don’t say that,” he warned. “It’s bad luck. You’ll jinx us.”

“Dude, I thought you of all people wouldn’t be superstitious,” Grantaire teased.

None of the others smiled, all glancing warily about. “When you’re a demigod, you can’t afford  _ not _ to be superstitious,” Combeferre told him seriously. “Too many gods you have the potential to offend by thinking you know everything.”

Grantaire had no comeback to that, and instead the four made their way to the bus, Enjolras and Grantaire sitting in front of Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Enjolras glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t actually think they’ll make out the entire time, do you?” he asked.

Yawning again, Grantaire leaned his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. “Dude, I honestly couldn’t care less if they did. It’s been a long day — let them enjoy themselves.”

“Longer for you than for me, I’d wager,” Enjolras said, looking at Grantaire closely. “Do you want to talk about what happened with Eros?”

Grantaire cracked one eye open and frowned. “What part of ‘never mention again’ do you not understand?”

Enjolras scowled. “I mean, look, if you really don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to, but given that you haven’t been able to shut up basically since I met you, I figured you probably had some questions.”

“Questions that you think you’ll somehow be able to answer?” Grantaire asked innocently, opening both eyes now. “Believe me, I’ve got questions. I’ve gotten more questions than answers since I met you and Aphrodite and was sent down this rabbit hole of Greek mythology, but I’m not sure that you’re the one to answer them. Or at least, I’m not sure I’m ready to hear your answers yet.”

A resigned look settled on Enjolras’s face. “So Eros told you then?” he asked. “About the other prophecy?”

Grantaire looked surprised, and shook his head. “Actually, no. Not really. That topic didn’t come up. He, uh, he was too busy talking about, like, feelings and such.”

Now Enjolras looked stricken, but Grantaire just shook his head, looking out the window as the bus pulled away from the station. “Look, Eros may claim that he knows what he’s talking about, but personally, I think he’s full of it. So whatever he may have told me or not told me, until I see evidence to back it up or rule it out, I’m just gonna disregard it.”

“Surely you don’t mean that,” Enjolras said doubtfully, and Grantaire just grinned.

“Haven’t you noticed? When I put my mind to it, I’m pretty much able to disregard anything.”

Enjolras snorted. “Yeah, I guess I had noticed that.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by another yawn. “Not to be rude or anything, as I’m sure that we have plenty of arguing left to do, but I really am wiped from today. Will you be ok entertaining yourself while I take a nap?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Enjolras, to ask him the thousands of questions that had been rocketing through his mind since Eros had implied — or really, outright stated — that Enjolras had some kind of feelings for him. But what good could it possibly do him or them to bring it up now? Clearly Enjolras wasn’t ready to discuss what (if anything) he felt, and besides, Grantaire wasn’t really ready to discuss it either.

Laughing, Enjolras leaned back against his seat as well. “Honestly, I may end up taking a nap myself. It’s a long ride to Michigan, and it’s been a long day for me as well.” He tossed a look over his shoulder. “And I somehow doubt either Combeferre or Courfeyrac are going to help keep me awake.”

Grantaire waggled his eyebrows at Enjolras. “If you need help staying awake, I’m more than willing.” Enjolras blushed and scowled, and Grantaire laughed. “Or not.” He yawned again. “Well, I guess I’ll see you when we get to Michigan, then.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” Enjolras said. 

As Grantaire’s eyes fluttered closed, he thought he saw Enjolras look over at him, a strange, almost tender look on his face. But then again, it was probably just his imagination slipping into dream as he fell asleep.

Grantaire woke with a jolt as the bus came to a rather sudden halt. He seemed to have hair in his mouth and it took him a moment to realize that it was from the blond head snoring against his shoulder. “Enjolras,” he murmured, feeling bad for waking him but with a far worse feeling in his stomach. “Enjolras, wake up.”

Enjolras blinked blearily as he lifted his head off of Grantaire’s shoulder. “Are we there?” he asked through a yawn, looking past Grantaire out the window, though there was nothing to see in the pitch darkness. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve stopped,” Grantaire said, a little unnecessarily. “I don’t know why, but...I have a bad feeling about this.”

Behind them, Combeferre and Courfeyrac woke up as well. “Where are we?” Combeferre asked warily.

Courfeyrac peered out the window as well before glancing at his watch. “Somewhere in Ohio, if I’m not mistaken. Did something happen to the bus?”

A voice crackled over the intercom. “We seem to be having some engine problems. Please keep calm and we will update you on the situation as we know more. Thank you for your patience, and—”

Suddenly, the bus lurched to the side as if something or someone ran into it, and Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac all stood, weapons in hand. Grantaire just looked at them, bewildered. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

“If my guess is correct,” Enjolras said, not looking at him. “We’re being attacked. By what, I can’t say.” He looked over at Grantaire then, something dark in his expression. “Stay here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The three of them headed toward the front of the bus and Grantaire snorted and unsheathed his own sword. “Not on your life,” he muttered, following them as the bus gave another violent lurch. “If we’re going down, we’re going down together.”


	17. Attacked by a Half-Naked Lady, Which is Less Exciting Than it Sounds

Though Enjolras glared at Grantaire as he joined the other three at the front of the bus, he made no attempt to send him back to his seat, which was probably a good thing, since at that moment, something punched a massive hole in the side of the bus right where they had been sitting. Amid the screams from the bus passengers, the four could hear a smoky, sultry laugh drift through the air. “Come out little demigods,” a female voice purred. “I’ve been waiting.”

Grantaire gulped. “This isn’t one of your relatives, perhaps, is it?” he asked Enjolras.

Enjolras just shook his head. “No, this sounds like a monster,” he said grimly, kicking open the bus door and striding out into the night.

“As opposed to your brother, who was, what, an angel?” Grantaire grumbled as he followed Enjolras outside, his sword at the ready.

Instead of the massive monster that he had been expecting, an exceedingly attractive and half-naked woman perched on what appeared to be the smoldering remains of a car, smiling coyly at them. “Demigods,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “I could smell you for miles.”

Behind him, Grantaire heard Combeferre whisper, “ _Empousa_?”, which must have meant something to Enjolras, since he shook his head. Grantaire didn’t know what the heck the woman was, but he did know that despite his valiant efforts to look at literally anything else, she had magnificent breasts.

“What do you want?” Enjolras demanded, hefting his spear as if to throw it.

She laughed. “Not much, little demigod. Just a taste, I promise.”

With that, she stood. Well, Grantaire thought she stood, anyway, but as she moved he suddenly realized with a sickening feeling that she didn’t have legs. Instead, her bare torso was grafted smoothly onto the scaly body of a massive serpent.

“ _Lamia_ ,” Combeferre pronounced, spitting the word as if it was dirty, and Grantaire glanced over at him, eyes wide with both fear and question. “Female demon. Sucks the blood of young men. Probably the basis for what we would consider a succubus.”

“You make it sound so clinical,” the _lamia_ complained, running a hand up her body. “It’s so much more than that.” She smiled at Grantaire, perhaps sensing that of the four, he was the only one affected by her physical attributes. “I come to young men, young lovers. And you — you reek of love.”

Grantaire forced a laugh, taking an automatic step backwards. “I’m sure there must be some mistake,” he hedged, his palm on his sword growing sweaty. “We’re not lovers. At least, not all together. But we were just hanging out with Eros, so maybe that’s what you smell?”

The _lamia_ ’s smile widened, and Grantaire gulped at the sight of her fangs extending. “No, you don’t smell of Eros,” she told him, slowly beginning to circle around the group, forcing them to back into each other, weapons at the ready. “You smell of his brother.”

Next to Grantaire, Enjolras tensed. “If he smells like me, then it’s me you want.”

“In time,” the _lamia_ told him, amused. “But it’s not you who he smells like. His scent comes from a different brother of Eros.” Grantaire and Enjolras shared startled looks. “With such a sweet smell, I can only imagine how sweet too his blood will taste.” She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I can’t decide if I want to taste him first or save him for last.”

Enjolras took a step towards her, his eyes blazing. “You won’t be tasting any of us!”

She laughed. “And you think you four would be enough to stop me?” she asked, amused. “Zeus himself could not stop me when Hera robbed me of my children. I was a queen once, you know, and a lover to Zeus. Hera stole my children out of spite, and in revenge, I starting stealing others’ children, feasting on their blood.” She lifted her chin, her grin turning maniacal. “Once I had my revenge against Hera, then I took my revenge against men.”

“Wait, so to get your revenge against Hera, you killed innocent children, and to get your revenge against Zeus, you killed innocent dudes?” Courfeyrac asked. “How is that revenge?”

The _lamia_ turned on him, snarling, but instantly, Combeferre stepped in front of him, sword at the ready. The _lamia_ drew back slightly, laughing. “And here I thought you said you weren’t lovers,” she said to Grantaire.

“Technically, I said we weren’t all of us lovers together, which is true,” Grantaire said, tightening his grip on his sword. “Not to mention, at least three of us don’t even like women, which is more than a little ironic for a succubus to kill us..”

Enjolras huffed a sigh of exasperation, but the _lamia_ merely shrugged fluidly and told Grantaire, “No matter, I will kill you all just the same.”

With that, she struck, leaping toward Grantaire faster than he thought was possible. He had no time to think or move or otherwise react, but thankfully, Enjolras rammed into him, pushing him aside as he stabbed the _lamia_ in the tail with his spear. The _lamia_ shrieked and whirled, her fangs bared. “You will pay for that,” she snarled, grabbing the spear from her tail.

Enjolras paled, but he looked more determined than ever, even with no weapon in his hands. “On the count of three, scatter,” he told them. “One…”

The _lamia_ broke the spear into two pieces and tossed them aside.

“Two…”

Turning to the bus, the _lamia_ grabbed the hole she had punched into the side and tore the metal with inhuman strength, peeling off a deathly sharp piece of metal that she held like a dagger. The mortals still on the bus screamed and fled, and for half a second, Grantaire wondered just what they saw.

“Three!”

They instantly scattered, Combeferre and Courfeyrac ducking to opposite sides in a move they must have practiced. Enjolras leapt forward and slid on his knees to the broken pieces of his spear, picking up the side that still had the spearhead attached. And Grantaire tried to back up, tripped over a piece of rubble, and fell on his ass.

Thankfully for Grantaire at least, the _lamia_ , despite apparently craving his sweet blood, went after Combeferre, hissing as if she were the snake whose tail she had. Enjolras looked back at Grantaire and rolled his eyes. “Get up,” he urged, as Combeferre swung his sword, connecting with the metal piece the _lamia_ held.

“Easier said than done,” Grantaire shot back, but he managed to scrambled to his feet, and not a moment too soon. The _lamia_ managed to land a blow on Combeferre, knocking him off of his feet and back into the bus, and he crumpled to the ground and didn’t move.

“Combeferre!” Enjolras called, his voice hoarse, but it was Courfeyrac who sprang into action first, beating the _lamia_ back from Combeferre with furious blows from his sword. Enjolras leapt forward to intercept the _lamia_ , shouting to Courfeyrac as he did, “Take care of Combeferre!”

Enjolras drove the _lamia_ towards Grantaire, who was ready with his sword, dropping automatically into a defensive fencing stance as the _lamia_ approached, her twisted grin turning into more of a snarl. Courfeyrac dropped next to Combeferre, checking his pulse, and he shouted to Enjolras, “He’s alive, just unconscious!”

Enjolras stabbed expertly at the _lamia_ , who hissed. “Well get him away from the bus,” he told Courfeyrac, who instantly complied, grabbing Combeferre and dragging him away.

“Why?” Grantaire started, matching Enjolras blow for blow as they attacked the _lamia_.

Enjolras just smiled a little grimly. “You’ll see.”

As soon as Courfeyrac and Combeferre were clear, Enjolras gestured for Grantaire to stand back and, with strength that could only be described as godly or the very least heroic, gripped his broken spear like a baseball bat, wound up and hit the _lamia_. His spear shattered, but the _lamia_ flew backward into the bus, which exploded in a fireball.

Grantaire whooped loudly, raising his sword in victory. “Take that, demon scum!” he cheered, and Enjolras laughed tiredly.

But their relief was short-lived, as the _lamia_ leapt out of the fire, looking mostly unharmed but seriously pissed off. She launched herself at Grantaire, bowling him over and knocking his sword out of his hand, and she grinned ferociously, leaned in close enough that Grantaire thought for sure this was the end, and kissed the side of his neck. “You’ll taste so sweet,” she promised, but before she could bite, Enjolras hit her with the other end of his spear and she staggered back off of Grantaire.

Courfeyrac grabbed the bus door and threw it at the _lamia_ like a frisbee, and Enjolras reached out for Grantaire and pulled him to his feet. Grantaire was surprised and a little gratified when Enjolras didn’t immediately let his hand go. “Well, Adonis,” he said, squeezing Enjolras’s hand, “it’s been nice knowing you.”

Enjolras made a noise that might have been close to a laugh. “We’re about to die and you _have_ to call me that?”

“It’s either that or bring up what Eros said,” Grantaire said blithely as the _lamia_ tossed aside the bus door, growling at them.

“You said we weren’t going to mention that again,” Enjolras pointed out, hefting the broken spear in his free hand. “And even if you’ve changed your mind and wanted to discuss it, is now really the time?”

Grantaire gave a pointed look from the _lamia_ to Enjolras. “Dude, if not now, then when?” Enjolras glanced over at him, and Grantaire realized for the first time just how close they were to each other. “I just...if we’re gonna die, I’d rather die knowing…”

He trailed off, but Enjolras seemed to understand, and he frowned, a small wrinkle creasing his forehead. “Grantaire,” he said, his voice suddenly husky, and he leaned in towards Grantaire. “Grantaire, I…”

“Really, guys, now is not the time!” Courfeyrac shouted as he threw his dagger at the _lamia_ , who batted it away, snarling. Enjolras and Grantaire guiltily sprang apart, but the _lamia_ chose that moment to spring at them. With the romantic moment they were so close to having shared completely ruined, Grantaire let out a very dignified shriek and tried to hide behind Enjolras.

He’d love to say that with death rapidly approaching, his life flashed before his eyes, but it didn’t. Instead, everything seemed to move in slow motion, and Grantaire watched with wide eyes as Enjolras stabbed at the oncoming _lamia_ , the piece of wood shattering harmlessly against her arm. Enjolras drew back, reaching blindly to make sure that Grantaire was still behind him even as the _lamia_ raked her claws down his outstretched arm, and Grantaire’s heart leapt to know that Enjolras would sacrifice himself to try to keep him safe.

Then again, they were going to die either way, and Grantaire would hate to have to go to the afterlife owing Enjolras anything.

So he grabbed Enjolras’s hand again, weaving their fingers together firmly as he stepped up to stand at his side, just in time for the _lamia_ to rear back, bare her fangs, and strike.

There was no time for Grantaire to say any of the things that he wanted to, no time to even look over at Enjolras as the _lamia_ closed in, and his mind went entirely blank until—

 _Thwap_.

All of a sudden, a silver arrow seemed to sprout from the _lamia_ ’s side, and she let out an unearthly shriek, wheeling away from Grantaire and Enjolras, who could do nothing more than hold onto each other and stare in shock, too tired, bloodied and bruised to be relieved.

“How…?” Grantaire started numbly, but just as suddenly as the arrow had appeared, a group of about a dozen girls, all dressed in white shirts, silver jackets, silver camouflage pants and black combat boots, ran into the dim light cast by the burning Greyhound bus.

“Not how,” Enjolras said weakly, letting go of Grantaire’s hand to hold the freely bleeding gashes on his other arm. “Who.” He nodded towards the girls, who were waving deadly-looking silver weapons as they ran directly towards them. “Grantaire, I’d like you to meet the Hunters of Artemis.”


	18. Rescued by a Bunch of Girls

In what seemed to be a highly coordinated movement, the group of Hunters split when they reached Enjolras and Grantaire, most of them jogging past them and accompanied by what looked to be wolves, clearly in pursuit of the _lamia_ , who had disappeared from view. Two stopped directly in front of Enjolras and Grantaire, both sharing a battle-weary, grim look on their faces, though one, slightly taller than the other, had dark hair, and the other auburn hair. “Well, well, well,” the dark-haired one said, looking at them critically. “What’s a son of Aphrodite doing tangling with a _lamia_? Aren’t you afraid you’re going to break a nail?”

For a brief moment, Grantaire was offended on Enjolras’s behalf, but then Enjolras broke into a tired grin. “Always good to see you, too, Éponine.”

To Grantaire’s surprise, the dark-haired girl, Éponine, grinned as well and pulled Enjolras into a hug. “It really is good to see you,” she told him. “Is it just you two? Or is the Dream Team here somewhere?”

“Over here, Ép,” Courfeyrac called, waving in their direction. “Is that Azelma? I need her to look at Combeferre — he got knocked out.”

Éponine’s expression turned serious, and she nodded at the auburn-haired girl, who jogged towards Courfeyrac, though she also frowned at the scratches on Enjolras’s arm. “Azelma should probably also see to you,” she pointed out. “You know she’s the best at healing.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand and winced. “I’ll just eat some ambrosia. It’ll be fine.” He gestured vaguely in the direction the _lamia_ and the Hunters had gone. “Were you hunting the _lamia_?”

“No, we—”

Éponine broke off when Grantaire cleared his throat. “Hi, not to be rude or anything, but, uh, who are you and what the heck is going on?”

Though Éponine’s eyes narrowed, Enjolras beat her to speaking. “Sorry, Grantaire, I forgot,” he said, sounding truly apologetic, and it was hard to say if Grantaire or Éponine was more surprised. “Grantaire, this is Éponine, daughter of Nemesis and one of Artemis’s lieutenants. She was at camp when I started there, but took her vows a couple years ago now.”

“Vows?” Grantaire asked, glancing over at Éponine, who smiled wolfishly.

“Vows of loyalty to Artemis and eternal maidenhood,” she told him sweetly. Grantaire looked horrified and Éponine laughed. “Yeah, pretty much everyone besides Enjolras had the same reaction. I think if he could’ve, he would’ve made the same vows.”

Enjolras’s ears turned red when Grantaire shot him a look. “It’s a little easier when you’re 12 to think a vow of eternal chastity would be easy to keep,” he muttered.

“Yeah, and you figured at the time it would be a good way to piss your mom off,” Éponine added. She gave Grantaire a cool look. “So that’s who I am, but I don’t know who you are. Who’s your godly parent?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “How quickly you demigods just assume that everyone you meet is a demigod. I’m a mortal with two human parents and a knack for seeing things that seem to want to kill me.”

Éponine’s eyes widened and she grinned. “So you’ve found a whole new way to piss your mother off,” she told Enjolras, who scowled. “Anyway, to answer your original question, we actually were on our way to meet up with the rest of the Hunters. We know well the _lamia_ that lives in these parts, but she normally sticks to hanging out at Cedar Point and drinking the blood of the kids that sneak in after the park closes.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to protest just how screwed up that arrangement was, but before he could, Azelma called them over to Combeferre, who was just stirring. “He should be fine,” she said, and Grantaire noted that she directed her comments to Éponine and not any of the guys. “Probably a concussion, but as long as he has some ambrosia and nectar, I don’t see any lasting damage.”

Nodding, Éponine gestured toward the direction that the _lamia_ and Hunters had taken. “Why don’t you rejoin our sisters after tending to Enjolras’s arm,” she suggested in a way that made it sound more like an order. “Make camp and rest for the remainder of the night.”

Azelma nodded as well and bent over Enjolras’s arm, examining the still-bleeding gashes. Without a word, she grabbed a roll of bandages from her bag and wrapped the arm before telling Éponine, “Ambrosia and nectar for him as well.” Then she took a step back and hesitated. “Will you be alright staying with these... _boys_?”

She said the word as if it was something dirty, and if Grantaire had the energy, he would have been offended. Éponine just laughed. “Don’t worry, they know better than try anything. Now go — I’ll see you and everyone else in the morning.”

Without another word, Azelma nodded and jogged off in the direction the Hunters had taken. Grantaire peered around Enjolras down at Combeferre, who was leaning against Courfeyrac and looked a little worse for wear. “How are you doing?” he asked.

Combeferre managed a weak smile. “As good as can be, I guess,” he said, wincing as he shifted. “Though honestly, given a choice, I think I’d rather face Eros again.”

Grantaire laughed and turned back to Enjolras and Éponine, his laugh dying and his mouth falling open as he stared at the silver tent that Éponine seemed to have conjured from absolutely nowhere. Enjolras laughed at his reaction and gestured for Grantaire to head inside the tent. Once inside, Grantaire stared around , still in shock. The inside of the tent was like something out of Harry Potter, decked out with comfy pillows, a kerosene lamp, and squishy silver sleeping bags. “Holy crap,” he said, sinking onto one of the pillows.

Éponine laughed lightly, reclining across the tent and sharpening a long, silver hunting knife. “What can I say — just because we’re Hunters doesn’t mean that we don’t know how to relax in a little bit of luxury.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre made their way inside next, Courfeyrac’s arm wrapped around Combeferre’s waist, keeping him upright. Once inside, they pulled a sleeping bag to the far corner of the tent, and from the looks of it, Combeferre fell instantly asleep against Courfeyrac. “I don’t think you’re supposed to sleep when you have a concussion,” Grantaire said, concerned.

Courfeyrac shushed him, brushing a lock of hair off of Combeferre’s forehead. “He just had some ambrosia and nectar,” he said softly. “Sleep is the best thing for him right now while we wait for it to take effect.”

Enjolras crawled in the tent, zipping the door behind him before settling in between Grantaire and Éponine. “Gods, I’m tired,” he sighed, grabbing a pillow and tucking it behind his head. “I never knew a quest would be this hard.”

“Not everything you thought it would be?” Éponine asked archly, lying on her stomach and propping her chin up on her hand. “And here the Enjolras I remember would have given anything for a quest.”

Shrugging, Enjolras yawned. “The Enjolras you remember was an idiot.”

Éponine and Grantaire both laughed. “An idiot, maybe,” Éponine told him, blunting her words with a smile, “but I still think you would’ve made a good Hunter.”

“Why didn’t you become a Hunter?” Grantaire asked Enjolras.

Éponine snorted. “He didn’t become a Hunter because he’s not a girl, dumbass,” she said, and Grantaire threw a pillow at her, though he wasn’t really offended. He was beginning to like Éponine, sensing in some regards a kindred spirit. “Had he been born a girl, I’m sure the goddess would have offered for him to join the Hunt. Besides, that way, he’d have been free of his prophecy.”

Enjolras stiffened, his expression darkening, but Grantaire leaned forward, frowning. “Well that doesn’t seem right,” he said. “What about transgender or genderqueer people? Are they precluded from joining the Hunt?”

Éponine threw him a disgusted look. “Of course not,” she snapped. “Lady Artemis knows what’s in a person’s heart because she’s a goddess. There’s even precedence for Artemis changing an individual’s outward gender.”

“Don’t forget there’s also precedence for Artemis to turn someone into a bear,” Enjolras pointed out evenly, though he didn’t look over at Éponine.

Shrugging, Éponine just smiled at Enjolras. “Yeah, but I’m sure even that would have been a better option than your prophecy, right?”

Enjolras didn’t smile, and for a moment, Éponine looked taken aback. Then she glanced over at Grantaire. “You should probably get some sleep,” she told him. “You’ve had what sounds like quite the day. You must be exhausted.”

Grantaire glanced over at Enjolras. “I’ll sleep when he does,” he said, an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

But despite his best intentions, he yawned widely, and Enjolras looked over at him, offering him a tight smile. “Get some rest,” he commanded. “I’ll be fine.”

There was a part of Grantaire that chafed at being ordered to do anything by Enjolras, and it was that part that kept him awake even as he slipped inside a sleeping bag. As much as his body wanted nothing more than to drift into sleep, he knew he was going to stay awake out of spite.

Éponine dimmed the kerosene lamp, her movements casting dancing shadows on the ceiling of the tent. “So how are you doing really?” she asked quietly, settling back down next to Enjolras. “I mean, you’re on a quest, and that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Enjolras was quiet for so long that Grantaire almost did fall asleep. “I guess,” he said finally, before abruptly changing subjects. “Can I ask you a question? What was it like for you, choosing to become a Hunter?”

If Éponine was surprised by the question, it didn’t show in her voice as she answered, “Honestly, it was the easiest choice I’ve ever made. You know what my mom is like — you know what options I had. Sure, it’s not a prophecy hanging over my head, but it was a path I didn’t want to take. So I take the easy way.”

They were silent for a long moment before Éponine added companionably, “But I imagine it’d be even easier for you if you had the choice, right? I mean, what was it that your prophecy said? Something about giving up your Cause for love?”

Grantaire almost gasped and barely caught himself, holding his breath and lying still. He couldn’t quite say why, but he knew that he didn’t want Enjolras to realize that he’d heard or been listening. After a painfully long moment, Enjolras sighed. “It would have been easy once,” he said, so quietly that Grantaire had to strain to hear him. “Now...now I’m not so sure.”

That seemed to be the end of the conversation, and Grantaire let out the breath he had been holding, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, his mind racing as his heart sank. So that was choice that Enjolras faced, the choice he had said he didn’t want to make — choosing his Cause or his love, which, if Eros was to be believed, was somehow Grantaire.

Grantaire didn’t get it — it was the easiest choice in the world. There was no doubt in his mind that Enjolras would choose his Cause. Grantaire was a nobody, a mortal who had no business being in this world or on this quest. He sure as hell wouldn’t have chosen himself, and there was no way that Enjolras would pick him over everything he believed in. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t even sure that he would want Enjolras to. It would be like Enjolras betraying a key part of himself, surrendering his Cause so easily and all because he was a teenager who may or may not like someone.

And while Grantaire was pretty sure that what he was feeling at the moment, the pain that curled his fingers and caused him to close his eyes to try to block it out, could only be described as heartbreak, he knew he would feel infinitely worse if Enjolras for some reason chose him.

For a long time, Grantaire stayed awake, staring up the ceiling. Had he been less caught up in his own thoughts, he might have noticed he was not the only one lying awake, judging by the lack of snores he had previously heard from Enjolras on the bus to Ohio.


	19. One Does not Simply Walk into Michigan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Barricade Day! Er, well, not happy, per se, but you know what I mean.

The morning dawned clear and bright, but Grantaire, who had barely slept a wink the night before, glared at the sun as if it had personally wronged him. He glanced over at Combeferre as he emerged from the tent. “How are you feeling?” Grantaire asked.

Combeferre shrugged. “About as well as can be expected,” he said, rolling his shoulders experimentally. “Provided we don’t have to fight any monsters today, I’ll probably be ok.”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s the trick, isn’t it?”

Behind them, Éponine was folding the tent up into an impossibly small package, but Grantaire didn’t have it in him to ask how she was doing that. “So what’s the plan?” he asked instead, avoiding looking at Enjolras. “How are we going to get to Flint?”

“If you were Hunters, I would suggest that you run,” Éponine said with a grin, placing the now-folded tent in her bag. “We’d make it there in less than a day’s time. But seeing as how you’re not Hunters—”

“And seeing as how we have an injury among us,” Courfeyrac pointed out, slinging an arm over Combeferre’s shoulders and kissing his cheek.

“Sure, and that, it’s probably too far for you four to run.” Éponine shaded her eyes as she looked north, though what she was looking at, Grantaire couldn’t say. “Your best bet is probably to walk to Sandusky. It’s not far from here -- maybe five miles? From there, you’ll be able to find a bus that’ll take you to Detroit, at least.”

Grantaire huffed a sigh and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, then I guess we’d better be going,” he said, a tad sharply, and Courfeyrac shot him a glance, frowning. “Nice to meet you, Éponine. It’s been...well, it’s been really something.”

Éponine grinned and glanced between him and Enjolras. “It really has,” she mused. “Oh, and before I forget…” She waved a hand and seemingly from nowhere, four identical packs appeared. “I know you lost your supplies, so I figured you could use these. It’s not much — some spare clothes, ambrosia and nectar, basic survival gear — but it may help.”

“Thanks, Éponine,” Enjolras said, flashing her a grin before offering her a hug, and Grantaire felt a sudden hot swoop of jealousy in his stomach, but he pushed it aside. First and foremost, it was a completely nonsensical feeling, but perhaps more importantly, Grantaire had no right to be jealous, had no right to any part of Enjolras.

The thought only fueled his foul mood.

After Éponine, Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac said their goodbyes, Éponine gave Grantaire one last lingering look before turning and jogging off. Enjolras shouldered his pack and smiled tentatively at Grantaire. “Ready?” he asked.

“Sure,” Grantaire said, without enthusiasm, grabbing his own pack. “Ready for a two hour walk, followed by a two-hour bus ride followed by another bus ride just so we can get to Flint and find your sister. Can’t wait.”

Enjolras’s smile faded, and he glanced over at Combeferre, who grabbed Courfeyrac’s arm and steered him away. Enjolras looked back at Grantaire. “Everything ok?” he asked.

Grantaire shrugged, beginning to trudge in the same direction as Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just...guess I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Enjolras fell in step with him, giving him a sideways glance. “Neither did I,” he admitted. “I’m still trying to process everything that happened yesterday and last night. I couldn’t help but think about what the  _ lamia _ said — that you smell like my brother, but not me and not Eros. I wonder who it could be.”

“Well, if it’s one of your relatives, I can’t  _ wait _ to meet him,” Grantaire said sarcastically, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “After all, your mom sent me to camp which started this whole mess, and your brother tried to kill me, so. I imagine we can only go up from here.”

For a moment, Enjolras’s expression darkened, but then he forced a laugh. “I guess you’re right, my family is kind of a health hazard at this point. I’m used to it, of course, but I’m sorry for everything they’ve done for you.”

Enjolras was trying so hard, and had it been yesterday, had it been before Grantaire had overheard what he shouldn’t have, Grantaire would’ve practically swooned. But now, even as a part of him was aching, as a part of him wanted nothing more than to grab Enjolras’s hand and tell him that it would all be fine, he couldn’t bring himself to. It would be worse, so much worse, if he did.

If Enjolras had a choice to make, Grantaire was going to make it as easy for him to choose as possible.

“Whatever,” he said moodily, kicking a rock. “At least we have your sister to look forward to. And then maybe we’ll actually reach the end of this quest, and I can go back to my real life, and you can go back to trying to change the world.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “You know,” he said carefully, “I’m beginning to think that they’re not mutually exclusive. And, I mean, obviously you’ll have school, and I have camp, but...well, I was thinking that maybe we could, I don’t know, hang out some time.”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, ok, sure. With all the time that you’ll have when you’re not trying to change the divine order of things, I’m sure that we’ll be able to hang out all the time.”

“Well, we could,” Enjolras said defensively. “If...if you wanted.”

“And why would I want that?” Grantaire asked. “So that we could sit around and braid each other’s hair and talk about so super awesome your Cause is and how the gods are just gonna, I don’t know, give in because you solved some quest or something?” He could see Enjolras’s face fall, could feel the anger coming off of him, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Well I don’t want that. I don’t want to hear anything more about your Cause or your prophecy or whatever. I’m on this quest because I have to be, but once we’re done, I’m done.”

Enjolras stopped, a hurt look flashing across his face before being replaced by a scowl. “What is your  _ problem _ ?” he demanded, stopping and glaring at Grantaire.

“My problem?” Grantaire repeated, glowering back at him. “You seriously want to know  _ my _ problem? My problem is—” He broke off, suddenly deflating, and he shook his head and looked away. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. “I’m just...I’m done. I wasn’t meant for this. I’m not like you.”

He had meant for the words to be mean, and accusatory, but they just came out sad and defeated. Enjolras’s face softened. “Grantaire—” he started, reaching out for him, but Grantaire brushed him off.

“The last thing you or your Cause needs is a nonbeliever, alright?” he said, not looking at Enjolras. “So just...leave me alone.” Enjolras hesitated and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I mean it. I don’t want to talk about your stupid Cause that’s just going to fail. Alright?”

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Enjolras glared at him before crossing his arms in front of his chest and storming away, hurrying to catch up with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who both shot uneasy glances back at Grantaire. Grantaire just looked down at the ground, swallowing hard. He knew what he was doing...or at least, he thought he did. It was just...better this way.

His brooding carried him all the way to Sandusky, where he slumped down in the bus station while Enjolras went to go find them tickets. “What did you do?” Combeferre asked Grantaire in an undertone.

Grantaire just shrugged, staring moodily off in the distance. In no time at all, Enjolras returned, scowling. “Come on,” he said shortly. “I got us a ride directly to Flint.”

“Great!” Courfeyrac said cheerfully. “Dare I ask how?”

Enjolras jerked his head toward a school bus out in the parking lot. “I managed to, ah,  _ convince _ them that we’re part of the class that’s on its way back from a school trip.”

Despite himself, Grantaire blurted, “You can do that?”

Enjolras glowered at him. “Sure, a little Charmspeak, some Mist manipulation. Easy-peasy.”

With that, he strode away, leaving Grantaire staring after him. “You must’ve really pissed Enjolras off,” Combeferre muttered. “I haven’t seen Enjolras use Charmspeak like this...well, basically since he learned how to control it.”

Grantaire just shrugged, though he looked uneasy, and he rather reluctantly headed to the bus, climbing on after Combeferre and sitting behind him. He still wasn’t exactly sure how Enjolras had pulled this off, but none of the kids on the bus gave them a second glance, and Grantaire felt a little unsettled as he sat down.

Enjolras came on the bus next and made eye contact with Grantaire as he rather deliberately sat down next to Combeferre, who looked surprised. A sulky Courfeyrac took the seat next to Grantaire. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me why I can’t sit next to my boyfriend?” he sniped.

Shrugging again, Grantaire muttered, “Sorry,” before turning to look out the window. He heard Courfeyrac huff a sigh as he settled back into the seat and was half-tempted to turn back to him to strike up a conversation, though he decided against it.

It wouldn’t have mattered. Courfeyrac ignored the universal sign of ‘want to be left alone’ that Grantaire was giving off, launching into a long-winded tale of...Well, Grantaire wasn’t even sure what he was talking about. He lost track of the story in the first few moments and, since Courfeyrac didn’t seem to need to breathe, he just let the tale wash over him without listening.

He wished that he had his phone and his headphones so he could actually drown out Courfeyrac, but thankfully, self-pity was a pretty decent substitute.

He probably would have spent the entire three-hour trip wallowing, were it not for Courfeyrac, somewhere around Toledo, stopping mid-sentence to say abruptly, “I know what you’re doing, you know.”

Grantaire glanced over at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully. “You’re trying to push Enjolras away. I don’t know why, exactly, though I have my guesses. But in the end, it doesn’t matter, because you’re going to stop.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Or what?”

Courfeyrac winked at him. “Or I’ll kick your ass.”

Snorting, Grantaire looked back out the window. “Look, whatever you think you can do to me, I promise, worse has already been done.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Courfeyrac said confidently. “Besides, if you  _ really _ wanted to be rid of Enjolras, you’d go for a route that didn’t involve him spending three hours brooding about you.”

Grantaire shook his head. “He’s asleep,” he said with confidence, given the snores from the seat in front of them and the pleading looks Combeferre kept throwing Courfeyrac. “So obviously if I am doing something, it’s not exactly keeping him awake and dwelling on it.”

Courfeyrac sighed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. But regardless of its effect on Enjolras, you can deny it until you’re blue in the face, but I know for a fact that you’re pushing Enjolras away.”

“How?” Grantaire challenged.

Smiling slightly, Courfeyrac told him quietly, “Because Combeferre did the same thing to me.” Grantaire gaped at him, and Courfeyrac shrugged and looked away. “He’ll deny it if you ask him, I’m sure, but when he first realized that I liked him, he did everything he could to try to deter me.”

Grantaire glanced over at him. “Because he…?” he hedged, unwilling to finish the thought.

“Still liked Enjolras?” Courfeyrac finished. “Yeah. I assume so, anyway.”

Grantaire traced the ballpoint pen graffiti on the seatback in front of him. “So what did you do when you realized that Combeferre was trying to get rid of you?” he asked.

Courfeyrac grinned. “I dug my heels in and fought for him all the more, because I’m a stubborn son of a gun.” He pointed toward Enjolras. “And if you think  _ I’m _ stubborn, imagine just how stubborn Enjolras might be.” Grantaire paled slightly, and he shrugged and looked away. Courfeyrac sighed, his expression softening. “Look,” he said, his voice quiet and a little urgent, “I’ve watched Enjolras for years as he’s tried to keep everyone who might be potential boyfriend material at arm’s length. He doesn’t let people get close to him, and even though I completely understand why, I can’t help but want more than that for him. And then you happened.”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, then I happened and messed everything up,” he muttered.

“No, then you happened and for the first time, I watched him let someone in,” Courfeyrac said, totally serious. “It’s been, what, three days since you met? And I’ve never seen Enjolras like this, not in the years that I’ve known him. So you—” He prodded Grantaire in the chest with his finger. “You need to not mess this up.”

For a long moment, Grantaire was quiet. Then he muttered, “I just don’t want him to make a mistake.”

Courfeyrac looked surprised. “You think you’re a mistake?” he asked, shaking his head. “Even if I agreed with that — and, for the record, I don’t — it’s a mistake that Enjolras has to make for himself.” When Grantaire just shook his head, Courfeyrac sighed. “Look, whatever is going on with you two, Enjolras deserves the right to make his own choices.”

Grantaire shrugged and looked out the window again. He was quiet for so long that Courfeyrac sighed and leaned back against the seat in defeat. Then, so softly that Courfeyrac almost didn’t notice, Grantaire whispered, “I just want to make sure he knows exactly what he’s choosing.”


	20. An Audience with Adrestia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that I'm not fishing for well-wishes, but it's my birthday this weekend. I bring this up because it means I _may_ only publish one chapter next week. I know, I know, I don't want to break my two-a-week streak either, but I'll be a little busy so I just may not have time to get two chapters done. We'll see.

Needless to say, no one seemed to be in a good mood when they disembarked in Flint. Combeferre winced as he stepped off the bus. “Where to?” he asked, even as he had to sit down on a bench.

“For you, nowhere,” Enjolras said firmly, as Courfeyrac shot him a grateful look. “Ambrosia and nectar are great, but they don’t fix everything instantly. You still need to rest, especially after what my previous relative did to you.” He squared his shoulders. “I will find Adrestia.”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “And I’ll go with you,” he said, summoning every bit of cheer — however false it may be — that he could muster. He ignored the look on Enjolras’s face, glancing over at Courfeyrac instead. “You should stay here with Combeferre. Make sure that he’s alright and doesn’t get into any trouble.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widened dramatically, and he looked from Grantaire to Enjolras, visibly hesitating. “Maybe I should go with you guys,” he hedged. “You might need a referee — uh, that is, you may need extra help.”

“We’ll be fine,” Enjolras told him curtly, glaring at Grantaire as if daring him to contradict him. Grantaire glared right back, and Courfeyrac sighed but shrugged in acquiescence. “If we’re not back within a few hours—”

“Courfeyrac and I will assume that you’ve murdered each other,” Combeferre said dryly. “Do you even know where to look? What’s a windflower, anyway?”

Courfeyrac gasped, and he clutched his chest in mock-horror. “Are you saying that you, my know-it-all, nerd boyfriend, actually has a gap in his knowledge?”

Combeferre glowered at him. “I’m not a know-it-all,” he growled, without any real heat. “Besides, it’s not like  _ you _ know, either.”

“Well, of course  _ I _ don’t know,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully, winking at Combeferre. “I’m the beauty, not the brains in this relationship.” He bent over to kiss the top of Combeferre’s head, ignoring his half-hearted efforts to swat him away, before glancing at Enjolras. “Do you know what windflowers are?”

Surprisingly, it was Grantaire who answered. “They’re anemones.” Everyone stared at him, Courfeyrac in genuine shock, Combeferre with an appraising look, and Enjolras, his expression inscrutable. “What? Have none of you ever read Thoreau?”

After a long pause, Enjolras said, somewhat reluctantly, “Grantaire is right. Windflower is another name for the anemone, which is a symbol of Aphrodite. Legend has it that she turned Adonis’s blood to anemones when he died. As for where to find anemones, I figured the most logical place to start would be the Genesee County Botanical Garden. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine.”

Combeferre actually looked a little impressed, and Grantaire gave Combeferre and Courfeyrac a sarcastic salute before turning to follow Enjolras. As they left, Grantaire could hear Courfeyrac ask behind them, “Aren’t anemones where clownfish live, or did Finding Nemo lie to me?”

“So, how are we getting to the botanical garden?” Grantaire asked, trailing behind Enjolras..

Enjolras didn’t look over at him, pausing at the edge of the street. “Cab.” Grantaire’s eyes widened and now Enjolras did glance at him, almost smiling. “Don’t worry, it’ll be a normal taxi. The Gray Sisters don’t operate this far from the city.”

Grantaire looked visibly relieved. “Darn, and here I was hoping that I could hold their eye hostage for some information.”

“And what is it exactly that you’d like to know?” Enjolras asked, flagging down a taxi.

As Grantaire clambered in the backseat after Enjolras, he told him, “Well, I thought maybe I’d start by asking them how best to apologize.”

Enjolras frowned at him, then turned to tell the taxi driver, “Botanical garden, please.” Then he looked back at Grantaire and arched an eyebrow. “Well? Are you apologizing or not?”

Grantaire scowled. “Well, if you’re gonna be like that I’m not.” Enjolras huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes, and Grantaire sighed as well, running a hand through his hair. “Look, maybe an apology is a bit ambitious at this point. Can we maybe start with a truce? I don’t know what your sister is like, but if she’s anything like your brother, we’re gonna need a united front.”

For a moment, Enjolras hesitated before sighing again and shrugging. “Fine. Truce.”

“Fine,” Grantaire echoed, glancing out the window before looking back at Enjolras. “Why is your sister in Flint, Michigan of all places, anyway?”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “Have you been living under a rock?” he asked disdainfully. “I’m assuming she’s here because of the Flint water crisis. Inciting civil unrest is one of her specialties.”

“Oh, good to know it’s a family trait,” Grantaire said glibly.

Though Enjolras again rolled his eyes, his lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Well, I suspect she gets it more from her father’s side than anything, so I’m not sure we can rely on genetics for why I’m the way I am.” Grantaire snorted but didn’t say anything, and Enjolras shot him a look. “What?”

Grantaire half-smiled. “I’d say something, but I don’t want to violate the truce.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed and he smiled coldly. “Probably for the best.”

Unsurprisingly, they spent the rest of the cab ride in silence.

When they got to the botanical garden, Grantaire pointed to a map at the entrance. “Looks like it’ll be easier to find anemones than I thought,” he said.

“Then let’s just hope that Adrestia is as easy to find,” Enjolras said grimly. He seemed nervous, and Grantaire made as if to reach out for him before reconsidering it, his hand falling awkwardly by his side. “I wish I still had my spear.”

Grantaire hesitated for a moment, then drew his sword, offering it to Enjolras hilt-first. “Here,” he said with a shrug. “You probably need this more than I do.”

Enjolras looked surprised, then a little gratified, and even managed a tentative smile. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“You’re not going to need a weapon, little brother,” a voice called, and Grantaire and Enjolras both looked around, startled, before both almost simultaneously seeing a tall black woman standing over by a bed of white flowers, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She looked regal and fierce, even dressed simply in jeans and white t-shirt that read, ‘Arrest Rick Snyder’, and was tapping her foot a little impatiently. “I have no intention of hurting either of you. I’d rather just get this over with.”

Enjolras and Grantaire exchanged glances and Grantaire shrugged and stepped back, gesturing for Enjolras to lead the way. “Adrestia?” Enjolras asked. “Um, Eros told us to find you. He said—”

Adrestia cut him off. “Yes, I know why Eros sent you. We do not need idle chit-chat. I’ve better things to deal with than a silly quest for our mother.”

Grantaire snorted. “I wish all my interactions with gods were this easy,” he remarked.

“If more gods actually had productive things to do, they’d probably be easier to deal with as well,” Adrestia told him, sounding a little amused, before looking back at Enjolras. “And if our mother had more productive things to do, she’s be perhaps less concerned with ruining her children’s lives.”

Shrugging, Enjolras handed Grantaire’s sword back to him, clearly sensing that he wasn’t going to need it. “Well, if you know why we’re here, do you know where we’re going next?”

Adrestia smiled. “Yes, and clearly our mother has a sense of humor. You will find what you’re looking for in the Cherry Orchard near Traverse City.”

Though Enjolras nodded, he also looked a little confused. “What does that have to do with our mother’s sense of humor?”

“The Cherry Orchard?” Adrestia repeated, as if it was obvious, and when both Enjolras and Grantaire looked confused, she rolled her eyes. “What, have neither of you ever read Chekhov?” She sounded so much like Grantaire from earlier that both men looked away, embarrassed, and Adrestia sighed. “The Cherry Orchard was Chekhov’s last play, and just happens to be about the struggle between the bourgeoisie and the aristocracy.” The look she gave Enjolras was speculative. “I just figured it was a little ironic, your quest ending there, what with your Cause and all.”

Enjolras looked surprised. “You know about that?”

“Oh, yes,” Adrestia said, smiling. “I’ve been watching you with great interest.”

If Enjolras looked surprised before, now he looked downright suspicious. “I would sort of assume that you’d be on the other side of this issue,” he said slowly, “what with you being a goddess and all.”

Adrestia waved a dismissive hand. “A goddess, sure, but a minor one.” She leaned forward, her eyes dark. “Unlike my brethren who rarely leave Mount Olympus and only dabble in mortal affairs, I’m on the ground working every day. And I’m hampered by the limitations of the Mist. Without it, humans might actually fulfill their potential for revolution and rise up to throw the gods off of Mount Olympus for good.”

Grantaire raised his hand. “Ok, forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but, uh, if the gods were overthrown, wouldn’t you be gone as well, seeing as how you’re, like, one of them?”

Enjolras shot Grantaire a warning look, but Adrestia just laughed. “I see now why my mother and brother took such special interest in you, mortal,” she said. “You do have guts. But I’m not like most gods. My sister Nemesis and I — revenge and revolt — we’re universal.” She nodded at Enjolras. “Your boyfriend here knows. As long as there has been society, there have been those determined to overturn the order of things.”

“So you might stick around, but the gods will go ‘poof’,” Grantaire said skeptically. “That’s a remarkable show of loyalty to gods who are basically all related to you.”

Adrestia laughed again. “Oh, save it,” she said dismissively. “It’s not as if the gods haven’t had a hand in their own demise. Besides, either way the gods win in the short term.”

Enjolras and Grantaire shared another look, Grantaire’s expression confused, Enjolras’s concerned. “What do you mean, either way the gods win?” he demanded. “If the Mist is removed—”

“If the Mist is removed, the gods get to go back to the way things used to be,” Adrestia told him. “Back in the days of Ancient Greece, when they could cavort with mortals as much as they wanted without a care in the world.”

Derision dripped from her every word, but Enjolras shook his head. “But, there’s always been a veil between the godly world and the mortal world,” he said, hesitating before adding, “Hasn’t there?”

Adrestia shrugged. “To varying degrees, perhaps. But in the old days, the veil was much thinner. And the gods — they were worshipped and feared.” Enjolras looked as if he wanted to argue, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to. “If the gods get to return to that, they win. If they get to keep the Mist and keep manipulating mortals, they also win.”

“You keep saying ‘they’ as if you don’t also benefit from this,” Grantaire pointed out evenly, though he was looking at Enjolras, who had gone pale.

“My business is with the long term,” Adrestia told them. “One way or another, the gods will be overthrown. History has shown it — as time goes on, as humans understand more about the world around them, the gods’ influence lessens. To quote the mortal prophet, Kanye West, ‘What’s a god to a non-believer’?” Grantaire choked on a laugh and Adrestia uncrossed her arms. For the first time, Grantaire realized just how tall she was and his laugh disappeared. “Humans have been replacing gods over the centuries with science and technology. Without belief, without worship, the gods will disappear.”

Grantaire snorted. “Except for you, because revenge is universal.” He shook his head. “Well, hate to break it to you, but so is love. And war. And I can’t speak for the sun and moon and oceans, but I’m pretty sure they’d carry on, too, which probably means that their gods would as well.”

Adrestia’s smile turned brittle. “Firstly, I am the goddess of revolt, not revenge. And secondly, that’s why I prefer a faster option.” She turned her smile on Enjolras, who looked away. “The other way is war. War incited by getting rid of the Mist.” Her expression turned bizarrely fond. “Humanity is such a delightful contradiction. They like children — too smart for their own good but also so blind to what’s right in front of them.” Now her expression hardened. “But humans cannot comprehend what they cannot see. Once the Mist is gone, once all is revealed, humans will find a way to understand it, and by doing so, destroy it.”

Enjolras shook his head. “You don’t know that,” he muttered.

“Oh, but I do know. I’ve been planning on it.” Her eyes gleamed with an inhuman light. “A true rebellion,” she murmured. “How that would sustain me. So much more than these petty human revolts that can barely even change the shape of their government, let alone humanity.”

Grantaire looked over at Enjolras, who was staring at her, something odd in his expression. “Well that sounds fascinating,” Grantaire said loudly, grabbing Enjolras’s arm. “I look forward to seeing which version plays out and who ends up on top. It sounds like it’ll be thrilling and not at all like a cheap rip-off of Game of Thrones. But in the meantime—” He tugged Enjolras towards the exit of the garden. “—we’ve got a quest to complete. After all, this Mist isn’t going to get rid of itself.”

“Good luck, brother,” Adrestia called, watching them leave, the light still not fading from his eyes. “I hope you get everything you want.”

Grantaire didn’t let go of Enjolras’s arm until they were well away from the garden, heading out into the surrounding park. “Are you ok?” he asked quietly. “Because we should go find Combeferre and Courfeyrac and get the hell out of Flint.”

Enjolras just shrugged, not meeting Grantaire’s eyes. Abruptly, he asked, “Do you think she’s right? That the gods win regardless?”

Grantaire stopped, his hand slipping down Enjolras’s arm to grip his hand. “I think thus far, every member of your family that I’ve met has been full of it, present company mostly excluded.” Enjolras didn’t smile and Grantaire sighed. “What I think is that we need to get this quest finished before we worry about the long term.”

Shrugging again, Enjolras let Grantaire lead him along for a few moments before he stopped again. “You know, Eros didn’t lie.” For a second, Grantaire’s heart stopped, and he stared at Enjolras, waiting for him to continue. “Adrestia did exactly what she was supposed to.”

“And what’s that?” Grantaire asked, his voice hoarse.

Enjolras looked at him, his expression dark. “She’s made me doubt.”


	21. Making Parents Proud (in More Ways than One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and absolutely foremost, my heart is still broken over what happened in Orlando. Honestly even if I had had this chapter written by Monday (which I did not), I think I would've held off posting it regardless. I know this is just a silly little fanfic and that fandom and the real world are two entirely separate things, but I think we all collectively needed a moment to grieve and mourn and pick ourselves back up and put ourselves back together as best as we could. My heart absolutely goes out to the families and friends of the victims and the entire LGBTQA* community, and my vote goes out to the politicians willing to stand up to make sure this doesn't happen again.
> 
> That being said, I am sorry for the delay, and not the least of which because now odd-numbered chapters will be on Thursdays and even-numbered will be on Mondays and that just doesn't soothe my soul, but what can you do? Not a whole lot.
> 
> And hopefully, this chapter will be worth the wait.

Luckily, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were basically exactly where Enjolras and Grantaire had left them, and Grantaire forestalled any questions with a look. “We know where we need to go next,” he said, choosing the simple explanation over a more lengthy option. “Adrestia told us that we’ll find what we’re looking for at the Cherry Orchard in Traverse City.”

Combeferre stood, glancing at Enjolras questioningly before looking back at Grantaire. “Alright,” he said, clearly willing to not ask questions for the moment. “So how do we get to Traverse City?”

“Well, we have a few options,” Courfeyrac said, thumbing through some brochures he had clearly grabbed from inside the bus terminal. “ It looks like we can take a train to Kalamazoo and then take a bus up to Traverse City, or we can take a bus to Grand Rapids and then take a bus up to Traverse City. Both options would take roughly...” He consulted the brochures. “Well, factoring in the layover, like twelve hours.”

“We could always grow wings and fly,” Grantaire suggested.”It’d probably take less time.”

No one laughed. “We could hitchhike,” Combeferre offered, though no one seemed enthused by that idea. “Well, if we don’t do that, what option do we have? We can’t rent a car, we can’t take a plane—”

“We’ll drive,” Enjolras said, with an air of finality. They all stared at him. “What? It’s a little over 3 hours and we don’t have time to make any other plans.”

Grantaire, Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances, and Grantaire said what they were all thinking. “But we also don’t have a car.”

Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac. “Do you feel like collecting on that favor your dad owes you?”

Courfeyrac made a face. “Technically, it’s George who owes me the favor.” Grantaire gave him a questioning look, and Courfeyrac explained quickly, “George is one of my dad’s snakes. Long story, as is the reason why he owes me a favor.” He sighed. “I was planning on hanging on to that favor for as long as I could, but...I suppose I can cash it in. But there’s a few things I’m going to need.”

“Like what?” Grantaire asked.

“Ideally? A rat. But since I don’t see that happening, peanut M&Ms and a lighter.”

Enjolras dug change out of his pocket and told them, “I’ll get the M&Ms from the vending machine. Check the packs Éponine gave us because I’m sure there’s some kind of incendiary device in there.”

With that, he slumped toward the bus terminal, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre watched him leave before swivelling to stare accusingly at Grantaire. “What the hell happened?” Courfeyrac demanded.

Grantaire sighed and knelt down to unzip his backpack, digging through the contents. “We met Adrestia. It didn’t go well. What more do you want me to say?”

“Any kind of explanation as to what made Enjolras look like he’s been punched in the stomach, for starters,” Combeferre said grimly.

Rocking back on his heels, Grantaire looked up at them, feeling suddenly exhausted. “It’s not necessarily my place to tell,” he hedged. “But Adrestia poked some pretty significant holes in Enjolras’s Cause, which I’m pretty sure has left him feeling a little shaken.”

Combeferre looked concerned, but before he could say something, Enjolras returned, M&Ms in hand. “Did you find a lighter?” he asked, glancing around at them.

Grantaire avoided his gaze, instead holding up a book of matches. “Will this work?”

“Should suffice,” Courfeyrac said, snatching the matches and taking the bag of peanut M&Ms. He gestured for them to follow him and went around the side of the bus terminal, squatting down to light a small patch of grass on fire with the matches before holding up the bag of peanut M&Ms, whispering, “For Hermes”, and tossing them on the tiny fire.

The fire  _ wooshed _ , roaring up to swallow the bag of M&Ms whole before shrinking to nothing more than embers, and Grantaire wondered for half a second what it looked like to everyone walking by, four teenagers looking like they were committing arson in Flint, Michigan. He glanced at Enjolras before looking back at Courfeyrac, whose eyes were closed and lips were moving in a silent prayer.

After a long moment, Courfeyrac opened his eyes, frowning. “Did your dad answer?” Enjolras asked.

Courfeyrac shrugged, slowly standing up. “I’m not sure,” he said hesitantly, and was about to elaborate when, out of nowhere, a set of car keys clattered to the ground in front of them. Courfeyrac paled. “Oh. So  _ that’s _ what he meant.”

“What who meant?” Grantaire asked blankly.

Courfeyrac picked up the car keys and sighed. “My dad. He told me that he would help me, but only if I made him proud first.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. “You mean…” he started.

“Yep,” Courfeyrac said grimly. “I’ve got to steal a car.”

Combeferre looked concerned. “Is this a good time to point out that you’ve never even shoplifted before?” he asked.

Courfeyrac shrugged again. “Well, I  _ am _ a son of Hermes. I guess I’ll figure it out.” He looked over at Combeferre and held out his hand. “Want to come with me? I’m about to commit grand theft auto, and I kind of want you there for that.”

Now Combeferre grinned, and he leaned in to kiss Courfeyrac’s cheek. “Look at my good boy going all bad,” he cooed, and Courfeyrac turned bright red. Combeferre glanced at Enjolras and Grantaire. “You two good to stay here?” he asked. “We’ll go... _ procure _ the car.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, not a problem,” he said, slumping to the ground. “We’ll wait here.”

Though Combeferre gave Enjolras a concerned look, he allowed Courfeyrac to tug him away, and Grantaire hesitated before plopping down next to Enjolras. “So,” he started, a little awkwardly, “are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Enjolras said automatically, playing absentmindedly with the charred patch of grass.

Grantaire glanced sideways at him. “Well, perhaps it’s none of my business, but you don’t seem ok. In fact, you seem a bit shaken, for lack of a better way of putting it. And obviously I’m not your first choice for someone to talk to about your Cause, for obvious reasons—”

“You mean because you’re a skeptic who doesn’t believe in anything?” Enjolras asked dryly.

Grantaire smiled slightly, but it was fleeting. “Yeah, that. I just…” He trailed off and sighed. “I guess I just want you to know that you can talk to me. If you want.”

Enjolras was quiet for so long that Grantaire just assumed that he wasn’t going to take him up on his offer. But then he sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why do you care, anyway?” he asked, a little bitterly, and he didn’t meet Grantaire’s eyes. “You think this Cause is doomed to fail anyway, don’t you?”

Shrugging, Grantaire leaned back and looked up at the sky, something contemplative in his expression. “Just because I think it’s doomed to fail doesn’t mean that I don’t think your heart’s in the right place,” he pointed out. “And if by now you haven’t figured why I care, you really are hopeless.” Enjolras frowned, but Grantaire didn’t let him speak, instead adding, “Besides, my opposition to your plan — to your  _ Cause _ — has nothing to do with whether I think it’ll fail. I’m not  _ that _ cynical.”

Enjolras glanced over at him, looking for a moment like he wanted to argue with that point, but curiosity won out in the end. “Then why are you opposed to it?”

“Because I think you’re wrong.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he was so taken aback that he couldn’t seem to form words. Grantaire waited patiently, though he was pretty sure that he didn’t want to hear what Enjolras had to say. Sure enough, when he finally spoke, Enjolras’s voice was incredulous. “You think I’m  _ wrong _ ?”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Yeah, I do. And I realize after your conversation with Adrestia, this is probably the worst time for this, but I just think if you listened to me — actually listened to me, instead of jumping down my throat or trying to argue with every little thing I say — you may understand why.”

For a moment, it looked like Enjolras might argue with that point alone, but then he nodded his head jerkily. “Fine. Talk.” He set his shoulders and raised his chin defiantly. “And I will...listen.”

The words seemed to stick in his throat, but Grantaire’s smile widened. “Well alright then.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out the best way to start. “You think that mortals are treated unfairly because of the Mist, and you think that removing the Mist would elevate them to a more even playing field in the broader course of the world, correct?” Enjolras nodded again. “Well, I think mortals are treated unequally because they  _ are _ unequal.” He gestured expansively. “Look at you guys — armed with swords and daggers and powers and abilities that no mortals have. What chance do mortals who have none of those things have against all the monsters and gods and shit that even you can’t explain in this world?”

Enjolras’s expression seemed frozen, and Grantaire barrelled on. “By some quirk of fate, I can already see through the Mist, and I can tell you right now — I’ve been terrified since I was seven years old and realized that the monsters that I saw weren’t just figments of my imagination or something I was going to grow out of. And it wasn’t just because I thought I was crazy, since no one else could see what I could.” He paused, trying to put everything he had felt for most of his life into the proper words. “It’s because once you realize there are monsters in this world, and that you’re completely powerless to do anything about it, you start to feel powerless to do anything at all.” He locked eyes with Enjolras. “And I somehow think that’s the opposite of your intentions.”

“But don’t you think that that’d be different if everyone felt the same way?” Enjolras asked, a little eagerly, as if he had found the weakness in Grantaire’s argument. “Powerless people have banded together to make changes throughout history.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Sure. But that’s when they were powerless because of artificial social or economic divides. But when it comes to humanity versus gods, actual literal gods with actual literal godly powers?” He shook his head. “The whole of human ingenuity hasn’t yet invented something that can compete with that. And maybe one day, we will have figured something out. But until then?”

He shook his head again, and Enjolras’s expression tightened as he clearly looked for the best way to counter Grantaire. After a long moment, he said, almost as if the words pained him, “But they should still have a choice.”

“Maybe,” Grantaire allowed, smiling slightly. “But that’s not what you’re proposing. Your plan is to take away the Mist entirely, to thrust everyone on the planet into this. There’s no choice there.” He paused, running a hand over the grass before adding, a little gruffly, “I wasn’t given a choice either.”

Enjolras looked at him, his eyes narrowed. “And if you had been given a choice?” he asked quietly. “Would you have chosen this?”

Grantaire smiled crookedly. “I would have chosen every moment that I’ve spent with you,” he said honestly. “But what if I had never met you? What if I had to spend my life dodging monsters and gods and whatever else?” He shook his head, his eyes never leaving Enjolras’s. “Most mortals with my... _ gift _ ...aren’t so lucky.”

Surprisingly, Enjolras managed a small smile at that. “You think you’re lucky that you got roped into this quest?”

“I think I’m lucky that I met you.” Enjolras’s expression tightened, and Grantaire shook his head, not wanting him to ruin this moment. “You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, whether you want to believe it or not. And not just you, before you let this all go to your head. Camp Half-Blood, meeting Les Amis, knowing that there are people out there who could what I was going through…” He shook his head again. “It’s all I ever wanted. And also, I met you, and since you are literally the hottest human being I’ve ever met on this planet, I don’t see how I can consider myself anything but lucky.”

Enjolras blushed and looked away, but Grantaire could tell he was smiling. After a long moment, he said quietly, “Believe it or not, and knowing you, you won’t, but you’re not the only lucky one.”

Grantaire’s heart seemed to be beating twice as fast and without even meaning to, he blurted, “I overheard you talking to Éponine. I know — I know that you have a choice to make.” Enjolras’s eyes flashed over to his, and Grantaire looked away. “I don’t...I don’t know everything about your prophecy but I think I know enough and even with everything, even with how little I believe in your Cause, I won’t ask you to choose me. I  _ can’t _ ask you to choose me.”

“Grantaire—” Enjolras started, but Grantaire just shook his head and barrelled on.

“I just, I know how important this is to you and it doesn’t matter what I think about it or if it’ll work or what, it’s what you believe in and screw Adrestia and all her nonsense because she’s full of it and even if she wasn’t, I’m just not important enough for you to give that up. I’m not worth it and I won’t let you make that mistake and—”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras’s voice was firmer this time, with a tinge of what Grantaire was coming to recognize as Charmspeak, and Grantaire fell quiet. “Are you going to let me talk at all?”

Grantaire narrowed his eyes. “No fair,” he said, his voice coming out a whisper. “You shouldn’t use Charmspeak on me.”

Enjolras sighed. “You’re absolutely right, I shouldn’t.” He hesitated before reaching out and cupping Grantaire’s cheek with one hand. “But you’re also absolutely wrong.”

“Am I?” Grantaire whispered, leaning in towards him. “Prove it.”

Enjolras laughed lightly and leaned in as well. Grantaire’s heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, and he forced himself to keep his eyes opening, realizing for the first time as Enjolras leaned in that he had very faint freckles on his nose. Their lips were mere millimeters apart and—

A car horn honked and Courfeyrac yelled, “Hey losers, get in. We’re going to Traverse City.”

Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras, making a pained noise. “Worst timing  _ ever _ ,” he muttered, getting ready to stand up, but instead, Enjolras grabbed his hand and tugged him back down before kissing him firmly.

There were fireworks exploding and a heavenly chorus singing, or at least, Grantaire would’ve sworn that there was. It was everything he had ever wanted and he seemed to melt against Enjolras, kissing him back with enough enthusiasm to almost knock him over.

“Dudes,” Courfeyrac called impatiently, though he also sounded like he was grinning (Grantaire was far too occupied to look over and check), “you can make out in the car. Come  _ on _ .”

Enjolras managed to extricate a hand to give him the finger and Grantaire laughed against Enjolras’s lips before pulling away, his eyes shining. “This is still a mistake,” he warned, unable to stop grinning.

“Maybe,” Enjolras allowed, grinning as well, and he took Grantaire’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “But I’ve got a three hour car ride to prove you otherwise.” He twined his fingers with Grantaire’s and squeezed his hand. “You ready for this?”

Grantaire squeezed his hand back. “Absolutely I am.”


	22. A Wild Goose Chase

Enjolras did indeed spend most of the car ride to Traverse City doing his best to convince Grantaire that this wasn’t a mistake, and for his part, Grantaire was happy to let him. At one point, when they surfaced for air, Courfeyrac complained loudly, “We can’t have been _nearly_ as bad as that when we first got together.”

“No,” Enjolras told him smugly. “You were _worse_.”

With that, he went back to making out with Grantaire.

But in between Grantaire’s barely coherent excitement (because he was _kissing_ Enjolras, was wrapping his fingers in that silky blond hair; because his every wish after meeting him several weeks ago on the A Train in Manhattan was coming true in the backseat of a stolen car in Michigan), when he could form rational thought, Grantaire could not stop the stubborn notion, hovering in the back of his mind like a dark cloud threatening to rain on his ecstatic parade, that this was, in many ways, still a mistake.

For starters, there was the simple fact that once this quest was done, Enjolras would be returning to Camp Half-Blood and Grantaire would be going back to his parents’ place. His time with Enjolras was drawing to very rapid end, and while Grantaire might hope or pretend that they could continue seeing each other, would Enjolras even still want him when he was no longer a part of Enjolras’s world?

That thought alone made every lingering kiss they shared in the crammed backseat a little bittersweet, at least to Grantaire. Part of him wanted to ask Enjolras if he was feeling even a tiny bit of what Grantaire was, but the larger part of him realized that this was not a conversation he wanted to have with Combeferre and Courfeyrac sitting in the front seat and potentially listening in on every word.

Instead, for perhaps the first time in his life, Grantaire managed to push away the self-doubt and deprecation that plagued him and instead focused on savoring the moment (and the taste of Enjolras’s lips and the very real magic that comes from love).

All too soon, though, the moment ended with Combeferre telling them quietly, “Hate to break up the lovefest in the backseat, but we’re here.”

Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras, shooting Combeferre an almost guilty look. But Combeferre was smiling at them and winked at Grantaire, who couldn’t help but smile back. “Where are we?” Enjolras asked, peering out the window as the massive rose bushes that lined the narrow dirt road.

“The Cherry Orchard,” Courfeyrac told them, a little glibly, and when Enjolras glared at him in the rearview mirror, elaborated, “at least, that’s what the sign on the highway said. Though I don’t see any cherry trees.”

As if on cue, the rose bushes end, replaced by trees that stretched as far as the eye could see, planted in neat rows and practically bursting with fruit. “Those aren’t cherry trees,” Grantaire pointed out. “Unless if they’re the biggest cherries ever.”

“They’re apple trees,” Enjolras said, sounding equal parts surprised and suspicious. “Why would someone name an apple orchard ‘the Cherry Orchard’?”

Combeferre shrugged. “Well, Traverse City is known for their annual Cherry Festival, so maybe the owners were just capitalizing on the festival name.” Enjolras and Grantaire stared at him. “What?” he asked defensively. “Some of us had to find far less enjoyable ways to entertain ourselves for the last three hours, so I read some brochures.”

Courfeyrac snickered. “ _Some_ of the brochures? I’m pretty sure you could feasibly work for the Michigan tourism department with the number of brochures you read.”

“Well, that just means that I’ll have plenty of fun facts to share on the return trip,” Combeferre said brightly. Courfeyrac groaned and Combeferre looked offended. “I thought you loved my fun facts.”

Courfeyrac quickly changed the subject. “So do you think I should just park?” he asked loudly, looking back at Enjolras, who was frowning.

“I guess,” Enjolras said slowly. “We may as well go by foot. This place is huge so we might be searching for awhile.”

As the car slowed to a stop, Grantaire pointed out the window and suggested, “Or we could just follow the marked path.”

Sure enough, a small sign with an arrow pointed toward a path that wound through the trees. Rather than looking relieved, Enjolras looked grim, automatically reached for where his dagger should have been. “I don’t like it,” he muttered. “It’s too easy.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre looked like they agreed with Enjolras, but Grantaire just shrugged. “At this point, easy seems like a relative point,” he said evenly. “I’m sure somewhere along that path is a relative of yours who wants to kill me, but there’s really only one way to find out.” He offered Enjolras his hand and added, with a small smile, “With your permission, of course.”

Enjolras managed a smile as well and took Grantaire’s hand, letting Grantaire pull him out of the car. Combeferre and Courfeyrac both followed suit a little more cautiously, drawing their weapons as soon as they were out of the car. Grantaire wordlessly handed his sword to Enjolras, whose smile faded slightly, and he took a deep breath before saying, “Alright then. Let’s go.”

Grantaire was certain that they made a strange sight, Enjolras leading the way, sword in one hand, the other hand firmly holding Grantaire’s, and behind them, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, sword and dagger at the ready as they made their way into the orchard. But for better or for worse, they didn’t see anyone as they went. Instead, the path grew narrower as the trees grew taller, far past the height of normal apple trees, their leaves beginning to block out the sun.

“Is it bad if I want to eat one of the apples?” Courfeyrac whispered.

Combeferre snorted. “I’m not going to be punished by some god or goddess because you couldn’t control your appetite,” he told him.

Grantaire glanced back at Combeferre. “Are apples sacred to a certain god?” he asked.

“Well, there’s the apples in the Garden of the Hesperides, which are associated with Hera” Combeferre said, frowning. “But that’s out west in California.” He shot a look at Courfeyrac before adding, “But despite what my boyfriend may think, I don’t have encyclopedic knowledge of all the gods’ symbols. They’ve changed and grown over the years.”

Enjolras shook his head, his expression dark. “They’re associated with a certain goddess,” he muttered. “They’re a symbol of—”

He broke off, coming to such a sudden halt that Grantaire, Combeferre and Courfeyrac all almost ran into him. Ahead of them was an archway made of rose bushes, so overgrown that they couldn’t see what lay beyond it. “This is some Alice in Wonderland nonsense right here,” Grantaire said, trying for a joke but everyone was too on edge to laugh.

For a moment, they all just stared at the rose arch. Then Enjolras squared his shoulders and tightened his grip on Grantaire’s hand. “Are you with me?” he asked quietly.

“At this point, I’m not sure I have a choice,” Grantaire said dryly, smirking when Enjolras glared at him. “But for all intents and purposes, yes.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and glanced behind him at Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He didn’t ask them the same question – he didn’t need to. Then he raised his sword once more and shouldered through the overgrown roses.

The roses were so thick that Grantaire couldn’t see anything, trusting Enjolras to pull him along. Despite being overgrown, the roses didn’t seem to have any thorns that pricked them along the way, and all four of them stumbled out of the rose tunnel, relatively unscathed.

“Whoa,” Courfeyrac said, voicing what they all felt.

They were in a clearing bathed in golden light, surrounded on all sides by apple trees that were planted so close together that they seemed to form walls. In the center of the clearing was a marble fountain, water gurgling peacefully into the gleaming white basin.

But it was what was next to the fountain that gave them the most pause – a massive white goose larger than a horse, staring at them with far-too-intelligent black eyes. And draped around its neck— “My mother’s cestus,” Enjolras said, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Grantaire frowned at the golden fabric. “That’s it?” he asked doubtfully. “We came all this way for _that_?”

“So it would seem,” Combeferre said, eyeing the goose carefully, as if it might attack.

Glancing around at the others, Grantaire asked impatiently, “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s take the cestus and get the heck out of here.” The other three exchanged glances and Grantaire frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re frightened of the _goose_. Of all the gods and monsters you’ve seen, you’re going to let _poultry_ stop you?”

The goose made a noise that Grantaire was pretty sure was a laugh. When no one said anything, Grantaire rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir, madam or whatever,” he said, giving a short bow. “May I have the cestus?”

For a moment, the goose just stared at him, and Grantaire suddenly wondered if he was honestly going to die by goose. It’d be probably the stupidest way to go out, which would honestly just be his luck at this point. But then the goose spread its huge wings, slowly stretching its neck forward so that Grantaire could grab the cestus.

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, unsure if he should pet the goose or not and settling for patting it gingerly on the head. He turned back to Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, surprised to find Combeferre and Courfeyrac staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. “What?” he asked uncomfortably.

Combeferre shook his head wordlessly, and to Grantaire’s surprise, blushed and looked down at the ground. Courfeyrac, on the other hand, giggled and winked at him. “Ok, what in the world is going on?” Grantaire asked, alarmed.

Surprisingly, Enjolras laughed, though his voice was sympathetic when he told Grantaire, “It’s the cestus. It has the power to make the wearer irresistible. And it seems that Combeferre and Courfeyrac are feeling the effects.”

“Ok, but you’re not looking at me any differently,” Grantaire pointed out, looking with revulsion down at the cestus.

Courfeyrac giggled again before informing Grantaire almost dreamily, “That’s because Enjolras already looks at you like you’re perfect.”

Enjolras blushed and snatched the cestus from Grantaire, balling it up and shoving it unceremoniously into his backpack. “That should muffle its power,” he muttered, his cheeks burning.

Grantaire had also turned roughly the color of a tomato, and he tried to cover up his embarrassment by glancing around the clearing. “So unless I’m missing something,” he said loudly, “Aphrodite seems to have led us on a wild goose chase – literally.”

Enjolras’s expression suddenly cleared, and for a brief moment, he looked angry. “Of course,” he breathed. “Gods, I’m so _stupid_.”

“What?” Combeferre asked, alarmed.

Enjolras gestured around the clearing. “Geese – a symbol of Aphrodite. Roses – a symbol of Aphrodite. Apples – a symbol of, wait for it, Aphrodite. If I was a betting man, I’d guess that the fountain is full of salt water.” He glared at the goose. “Don’t you see? She led us directly to one of her sacred sites.”

Courfeyrac looked as confused as Grantaire felt. “So what does that mean?”

Smiling grimly, Enjolras picked his backpack off the ground. “It means that Grantaire’s right. She’s led us on a wild goose chase of a quest that’s not even a real quest. She set the whole thing up. And now she’s got some explaining to do.” He turned to the goose. “Can you carry us all?” he asked.

The goose stretched its wings again, looking insulted at the question, and turned to offer its broad back to them. “Come on,” Enjolras said grimly. “We might as well use the transportation my mom so thoughtfully provided.”

“But where are we going?” Grantaire asked, bewildered.

Enjolras glanced back at him, his smile dark. “To Mount Olympus,” he told Grantaire before pulling himself onto the goose’s back. “I need to have a word with my mother.”


	23. In the Halls of Olympus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like there will be two more chapters to this after this one, so advance thanks to everyone who has stuck with this along the way! Almost done!!
> 
> Also please join me in my excitement that I'm publishing the 23rd chapter on the 23rd of June. It's the little things, y'all...

Grantaire alone didn’t hesitate, swinging onto the goose’s back and wrapping his arms around Enjolras’s waist. Combeferre and Courfeyrac both hung back, doubtful looks on their faces. “Enjolras, be sensible,” Combeferre said calmly. “Grantaire can’t go to Mount Olympus.”

“Why not?” Grantaire asked, his heart sinking, feeling like he probably already knew the answer.

“Because you’re mortal,” Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac all chimed in unison, but Enjolras quickly added, a mutinous look on his face, “So what? Zeus brought Ganymede to Mount Olympus, and he was mortal.”

Courfeyrac winced. “Dude, comparing yourself to the King of the gods _never_ works out in your favor. Besides, despite the way Grantaire may look at you, you’re not actually a god and probably not afforded the same privileges.”

Enjolras just scowled. “Ok, then what about Castor and Pollux?” he challenged.

Combeferre sighed. “That example hardly compares. Pollux was already immortal and chose to share his immortality with his twin, so they split their time between Olympus and Hades.” He raised an eyebrow at Enjolras. “If that is the example that you’re going off of, I want to remind you that this also only worked because one of them was dead.”

Grantaire paled and tightened his grip on Enjolras’s waist. “Uh, all things being equal, I vote that we should both _not_ be dead. That’d be, you know, great.”

“Ok, so I accept that those aren’t great examples, but Grantaire bears my mother’s blessing,” Enjolras said, a stubborn set to his jaw. “And getting to Mount Olympus is the only way that I can both deliver my mother’s cestus and also ask her some questions that I desperately need the answers to.”

He did look a little desperate, and Grantaire wished that he could lean in and kiss him until the tension radiating off of him was gone. “Enjolras,” Combeferre said quietly, meeting his eyes, “you know that I’m with you until the end, now and always. But this — this is a suicide mission. Remember Bellerophon?” Enjolras froze, and Grantaire could feel him tense under his arms. “He was a mortal who thought he could fly to Mount Olympus, and he wound up crippled and miserable for the rest of his life.”

For a long moment, Enjolras was silent, and Grantaire thought for sure that he was going to surrender. Combeferre clearly thought so, too, his shoulders relaxing. “Let me take Grantaire back to camp,” he suggested. “You can go with Courf to talk to your mom.”

Enjolras swivelled to look at Grantaire, a questioning expression on his face, and Grantaire managed a crooked smile. “Wherever you need me, I’m there,” he told Enjolras, pausing before adding with a smirk, “Adonis.”

“You have _got_ to stop calling me that,” Enjolras sighed, leaning in to kiss him lightly. He turned back to Combeferre. “I appreciate your offer. But Grantaire has been mixed up in this from the beginning, and he deserves answers as much as I do. Take Courfeyrac back to camp — I trust my mother to keep me and Grantaire safe.” Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, and Enjolras amended, “I think the potential for drama is high enough for Aphrodite to keep me alive through the grand confrontation.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged uneasy glances, and Courfeyrac shrugged. “Well, much like Combeferre, I’m not in a hurry to see you killed. And while my dad may have gotten his satisfaction from me stealing the car, that doesn’t mean I can’t get my satisfaction from returning it.” He looked back at Combeferre, something hesitant in his expression. “I can take the car back to Flint and grab a pegasus. Meet you at Mount Olympus or back at camp?”

His carefully phrased question seemed more directed at Combeferre than Enjolras or Grantaire, and Combeferre’s expression tightened before he forced himself to smile slightly, reaching out to take Courfeyrac’s hand. “I’ll go with you,” he said, and Courfeyrac grinned for a moment, his expression falling when they looked back at Enjolras. “So. I guess we’ll see you back at camp.”

“You know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think I had to,” Enjolras told Combeferre. “But...I need to know why. The prophecy, this quest, the Cause, even Grantaire...it’s all starting to make sense to me. But the _why_ …”

He trailed off, but Combeferre nodded in understanding. “Hey, you’re talking to a son of Athena,” he told Enjolras. “If there’s anyone who understands the need for answers, it’s me.”

With that, Combeferre and Courfeyrac turned to head to the car, while Grantaire looked over at Enjolras. “Answers?” he asked, confused. “Just what have you figured out?”

“A lot of things,” Enjolras told him, turning to the goose, who clicked its beak impatiently. “Olympus — as fast as you can take us.”

Clearly, the goose took Enjolras at his word, winging into the sky so quickly that Grantaire would have fallen off if he hadn’t been holding onto Enjolras for dear life. “You know, ‘a lot of things’ is not really an answer,” he shouted over the rush of the wind.

Enjolras laughed lightly. “Sure it is,” he called back. “It’s just not the answer you’re looking for.”

Grantaire wanted to argue more, but if possible, the goose managed to pick up even more speed, and he could barely manage to speak against the wind. Besides, he had a more pressing question to ask. “The gods aren’t really going to kill me for going to Mount Olympus, are they?”

“Don’t worry,” Enjolras told him, and for a brief second, Grantaire allowed himself to relax, until Enjolras added, “They’ll have to kill me first.”

The words every boyfriend was just _dying_ to hear.

Not that he and Enjolras were officially...well, officially anything. And not that flying on the back of a magical goose to Mount Olympus for a confrontation with the gods is the best place to brood about the looming ‘what are we?” conversation, but since Grantaire was trying to block from his mind the certain potential for death in his remarkably near future, based on the pace the goose was setting, teenage brooding seemed like the best way to keep his mind occupied.

Well, that and staring at the back of Enjolras’s neck and the smooth, golden skin there that he’d love to kiss…

It should’ve taken close to two hours to fly to Manhattan by plane, let alone by goose, but given that he didn’t get very far in his rather sordid fantasy of what he’d like to do with Enjolras once this was all over, Grantaire was pretty sure it wasn’t even twenty minutes later when the skyline appeared in the distance. “Dude, I’m only travelling by goose from now on,” he called to Enjolras, who laughed, though his amusement was short-lived, his expression growing grim as the goose winged closer to the Empire State Building.

“Don’t tell me…” Grantaire said slowly. “Mount Olympus is at the top of the Empire State Building?”

“Of course,” Enjolras said distractedly. “Where else would it be?”

His grip on the goose tightened, and the goose honked its displeasure. Suddenly, they were hit with a strong wind from the west, causing the goose to wheel in the sky, its wings flapping wildly. “It’s Zephyros!” Enjolras shouted, though Grantaire could barely hear him above the roaring of the wind. “He’s trying to bring us down.”

“Seems like he’s succeeding!” Grantaire shouted back, clutching Enjolras’s waist for dear life.

Enjolras ignored him. “Aphrodite!” he shouted into the swirling wings. “I come on your sacred animal, bearing your cestus, with the one who carries your blessing. Tell Zephyros to let us pass!”

For a moment, nothing happened, and Grantaire let out a particularly undignified shriek as the goose began to spin uncontrollably. Then, all of a sudden, the wind stopped, turning into a light breeze. The goose straightened, and Grantaire laid his head against Enjolras’s back, panting for breath. “What a welcome,” he managed, after a long moment.

Enjolras didn’t respond as the goose slowed, dropping to descend at the very end of a cloud mass. As they approached, Grantaire gasped, staring at the breathtaking Greek architecture that rose from the clouds, ethereal and ancient palaces and temples forming a glistening cityscape that dotted the disembodied peak of a mountain.

The goose landed on the edge of the surprisingly solid cloud floor, at the feet of the goddess who awaited them. “You knew,” Enjolras said accusingly in lieu of a greeting as soon as the goose landed.

Aphrodite spread her arms wide. “Enjolras,” she said warmly. “As pleased as I am when one of my favorite sons visits, your presence here with Grantaire is unwise. Lord Zeus is away from Olympus, but—”

Enjolras cut her off, repeating his previous accusation. “You _knew_. You knew the limitations of my Cause, and you set this whole quest in motion just to prove it to me, and dragged Grantaire along with it. Why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Aphrodite sighed. “Because you are my son,” she said simply. “And once you get an idea in your head, I know how impossible it is to get out.” She glanced around. “We can continue this conversation, but please, step inside, where we have less chance of being seen.”

Both Enjolras and Grantaire slid off the goose’s back, Grantaire pausing to pat the goose on the neck in thanks before following Aphrodite down a narrow path that seemed to lead away from the main city, up the back end of the mountain. They followed her inside an arched doorway, and Grantaire stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging open. “Whoa,” he managed.

Laughing lightly, Aphrodite turned to face them. “Welcome, mortal, to a place where few of your kind have tread: the throne room of the gods. It is also the place we are least likely to be overheard, as the gods do not frequent their thrones unless there is business to attend to.”

“Business like killing a mortal for trespassing in Olympus?” Grantaire asked mildly, still peering around at the massive thrones that lined the room. He glanced at the huge fire pit in the center of the room and then back at Aphrodite. “Or will they just maim me instead?”

This time Aphrodite did not laugh. “I am hoping my blessing will be enough to protect you for however brief you are here,” she told Grantaire before arching a perfect eyebrow at Enjolras. “Which is why this conversation, no matter how urgent, must also be quick.”

Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Fine, then I’ll cut right to it,” he said. “You knew that this quest was a sham.”

“Well, not entirely,” Aphrodite hedged. “It would have been a _total_ bore having to go to Michigan to get my cestus back. I accidentally left it there when Ares and I…” She trailed off, her smile turning wicked. “Well, let’s just say that wasn’t the only item of clothing I accidentally left behind.”

Grantaire blushed and looked away, but Enjolras seemed unperturbed. “But you knew that sending me on a quest like this would cause me to rethink things, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet. “I still don’t understand — why couldn’t you just _tell_ me?”

Aphrodite sighed. “Because you see things so clearly,” she said, something almost wistful in her voice. “You have such surety that what you are doing is right, and because you are my son, because you can see possibilities and the way things _should_ be so much stronger than most, I didn’t have it in me to try to convince you.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “And even if I had told you, would you have believed me?”

“Probably not,” Enjolras admitted, “but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t have tried. And that doesn’t mean that the only way to convince me was to set up this whole elaborate scheme just to get me to realize. And it doesn’t mean that you have to get Grantaire, who’s not even a part of this, involved.”

Aphrodite narrowed her eyes in such an Enjolras-esque look that Grantaire was a little frightened. “Are you saying you wouldn’t have wanted him there?”

Enjolras scowled. “That’s not the point. He could have been seriously hurt or had something much worse happened to him, and you let that happen all because you were trying to prove a point!”

Shaking, her head, Aphrodite started, “Well, it seems he managed to make it through unscathed, and besides—”

“Hi, sorry to interrupt,” Grantaire said loudly, not feeling particularly sorry at all as he glared at Enjolras, “but I am standing right here and you can feel free to talk to me rather than about me.” Enjolras glared right back at him and Grantaire continued, “Besides, what I’d really like to know is what in the hell is going on? _What_ are you rethinking? What do you mean, the quest was a sham?”

Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “I know I promised you answers—” he started, a little heatedly, but Aphrodite interrupted him.

“I think, my dear, that it’s perhaps time that you filled Grantaire in on your other prophecy,” she suggested gently.

For a moment, Enjolras looked like he was going to argue with that, but then he nodded slowly. “You’re probably right,” he muttered, turning to Grantaire, something almost nervous in his expression. “This was the prophecy that I got from Rachel and the Sibylline books,” he told him, before straightening his back and reciting:

“A half-blood hero with a cause  
That his mother’s ire draws  
Shall find a love against the odds  
But not a love to please the gods  
And with this love he must decide  
With mortals or with gods to side  
The finest hour of the Dove  
When he gives up his Cause for love.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened at the last lines, and Enjolras reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I didn’t get it before,” he told Grantaire quietly. “I thought that siding with the gods meant falling in love like Aphrodite wanted me to, and siding with mortals meant continuing to fight for my Cause, that at the end of the day I’d have to choose between the Cause and love. But then, well, I met you.”

The smile he gave Grantaire was shy and infinitely sweet, and Grantaire had never wanted to kiss him more than in that moment. “And in all the ways that you have pissed me off and annoyed me and driven me absolutely crazy, you also made me realize something.”

He looked over at Aphrodite, who was beaming like she knew what was coming next. “It was never a choice about love versus Cause, was it?” Enjolras asked, mostly rhetorically. “Meeting Grantaire, getting to know him, discovering what it was really like for a mortal who can see through the Mist — of course I’d give up my Cause after that. I can barely stand knowing what Grantaire’s been through these past sixteen years, and I’m certainly not going to force that on the whole of humanity.”

His eyes narrowed and he turned to face his mother, his shoulders straightening. “But you knew that, didn’t you? You knew that sending me on this quest, sending me to meet Eros and Adrestia would show me what I didn’t understand before. You knew that this would be a victory for the gods, in the end. And you knew that I’d end up falling for Grantaire along the way, making this even easier for me to accept like a good little boy, didn’t you? That’s why you forced him into this.”

Aphrodite shrugged. “I knew that getting you to Adrestia would help you rethink some of your stances,” she said, her musical voice uncharacteristically somber. “And I knew Eros would goad you enough to send you in that direction. These were outcomes that the gods favored, and they were the argument that I used to convince Apollo to allow the quest in the first place, even if it provoked Zeus’s anger.”

Enjolras stiffened, his expression cold, but Aphrodite shook her head and turned to smile at Grantaire, who found it was somehow easier to keep from melting into a pile of good this time around. Then again, Enjolras had an iron-like grip on his hand, which might have contributed to it. “But where you are mistaken is that I somehow had a hand in your darling Grantaire’s involvement. I’m afraid he was nothing more than a happy accident that tied everything together even better than I could have hoped for.”

Grantaire blushed, but Enjolras frowned. “But Adrestia said he smelled like Eros’s brother, which would be one of your other sons,” he pointed out. “So if you didn’t have a hand in getting Grantaire’s mixed up in this, then who did?”

“That would be me,” said a voice so sinisterly familiar that it made the hair on the back of Grantaire’s next stand up, and both he and Enjolras whirled around.

Grantaire’s eyes widened when he saw who approached. “You,” he breathed.


	24. Asking Your Mom for a Favor isn't any Easier When You're a Demigod

As soon as Grantaire heard the voice, he knew who it was, and when he turned and saw the god approaching, it was confirmed. “You,” he breathed, his grip on Enjolras’s hand painfully tight.

“Me,” the god said, his blood-red eyes gleaming, but the smile he gave Grantaire was surprisingly gentle. “But I’m not who you think I am.”

“Of course you are,” Grantaire said, tempted to reach for his sword so that he could properly slice open the god after what he did to Combeferre. He had already hit him once when Eros was invisible; it wouldn’t be too difficult to hit him now that he wasn’t. “You’re—”

He broke off as the god strode forward, his wings spreading behind him. They weren’t the same white, feathery wings he remembered from before. Instead, they were fluttering, multi-colored butterfly wings. “I am not my brother,” the god told them, though his voice and his face was eerily similar to Eros. “I am Anteros, God of requited love.”

As he turned to bow to Aphrodite, Grantaire shot Enjolras a look, wondering if there was something he was missing, but Enjolras looked just as confused. “I didn’t know Eros had a brother who looked exactly like him,” Enjolras said carefully.

Anteros laughed. “I was designed to be a playmate for Eros, someone to be his closest companion. And while Narcissus gets the bad rap for it, there’s really no one Eros loves more than himself.” He gestured at himself. “So I was made to look like him, save for the wings.” He shrugged, and his butterfly wings moved with his shoulders. “I was always second to Eros, and most mortals forgot about me as time went on.”

Grantaire crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Ok, so I’ll hold off on stabbing you for the moment. But you were somehow responsible for why I apparently smell like I do?”

It was an admittedly weird question, which was probably why Anteros laughed first before his expression grew serious. “While my brother and my mother—” He bowed again to Aphrodite, whose lips were pursed as if she could sense where this was going and didn’t like it “—had a more direct hand in trying to force love on Enjolras after he received his prophecy, I decided to take a more subtle route.”

“The Mark of Anteros,” Aphrodite murmured, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I should have known.”

Anteros just raised an eyebrow at her. “Well it worked, didn’t it?”

“What worked?” Grantaire asked, baffled. “What the heck is the ‘Mark of Anteros’?”

“‘Think how a breeze or an echo bounces back from a smooth solid object to its source; that is how the stream of beauty goes back to the beautiful boy and sets him aflutter. It enters through his eyes, which are its natural route to the soul; there is waters the passages for the wings, starts the wings growing, and fills the soul of the loved one with love in return’,” Anteros quoted, his red eyes growing warmer. “Plato wrote that, and it best captures the Mark I leave. Once Enjolras met the one he would fall in love with, that person would be marked and made known to the gods.”

While Anteros looked pleased with himself, Enjolras looked anything but. “Made known to the gods, sure, but also made known to monsters,” he said, a growl in his voice as he glared at Anteros. “Did you even consider that?”

Grantaire shook his head. “Of course he didn’t,” he said, derision clear in his voice. “I’m beginning to realize that the gods rarely think of their effect on us insignificant mortals.”

“Careful,” Aphrodite warned, her expression dark as she glanced at Grantaire, “my blessing only extends so far, and Lord Zeus would not take kindly to you insulting the gods in their own throne room.”

“Whatever,” Grantaire said, too riled to care. “I’ve been stalked by monsters, dragged into a quest and a world that I clearly don’t belong in, and all because I was ‘marked’ by a god because, what, Enjolras was somehow inevitably going to fall in love with me? Like some kind of soulmate nonsense? I didn’t ask for that — and neither did he.”

Anteros held up his hands placatingly. “It’s not as simple as that,” he said calmly. “My mother could tell you as much — as could Enjolras. Love is rarely a predestined thing. The potential for love between you and Enjolras was just that — potential. It was your actions and his that caused it to grow. My Mark does not not cause love, only reveals its potential to those who know how to look.”

Enjolras reached out for Grantaire’s hand. “And what about the monsters?”

Anteros shrugged. “They brought you together, did they not?” he asked. “My Mark does not reveal itself the same way each time. Had Enjolras met and fallen for a demigod, or even a mortal without clear sight, things may have been quite different.”

“There’s still that whole question of, you know, individual agency and predetermination—” Grantaire started, but Aphrodite sighed and held up her hands.

“Now, boys,” she said sweetly, and all three fell silent and turned to look at her, “there’ll be plenty of time for bickering later. For right now, we need to get Enjolras and Grantaire on their merry way. And first, I believe Enjolras has a quest to finish.”

For a moment, Enjolras looked confused, then he nodded and shrugged his backpack off, reaching in it to pull out the wadded-up cestus. “Um, here,” he said, holding it out to Aphrodite like it was something gross that he didn’t want to touch.

Aphrodite looked scandalized at the state of it. “It’s  _ wrinkled _ ,” she practically shrieked, grabbing the cestus and opening it up. “Oh, no, this will never do. I’ll have to put it out for dry-cleaning.” She snapped her fingers and the cestus disappeared with a small  _ poof _ . She frowned at Enjolras. “I hope you aren’t expecting a boon after the way you treated one of my most sacred items.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “No, I wasn’t expecting a boon because this wasn’t a real quest,” he said evenly. “But I did have a favor to ask.”

“A favor?” Aphrodite repeated, her expression suddenly sly. “Do tell.”

Enjolras straightened his shoulders. “My prophecy stated that I must decide to side with mortals or with gods, and I’ve made my decision,” he told them. “And simply put, I’m siding with both gods and mortals — at least for the moment — and giving up on the cause of getting rid of the Mist.”

Aphrodite nodded slowly. “That’s honorable of you,” she told him. “And you get love out of it, so it’s really a win-win, I suppose. But what’s the favor?”

Enjolras smiled coyly before saying innocently, “Well, seeing as how mortals still have to deal with the Mist, and seeing as how that means there will still be mortals who can see through the Mist, it seems only fair that we don’t leave them out there to fend for themselves. Which is why I was hoping that you would intercede with the gods on their behalf. Let them come to Camp Half-Blood.” Grantaire’s heart seemed to skip a beat, and he gaped at Enjolras. “Mortals are already allowed in Camp Jupiter and in the Hunters of Artemis. Surely extending the benefits of camp is just the right thing to do since gods can control every other aspect of their lives.”

It was a passionate argument, and Enjolras made it well, his expression earnest and his eyes clear. But Aphrodite smiled wickedly. “You just want your boyfriend to be able to stay in camp with you,” she cooed.

Grantaire looked over at Enjolras, hoping against hope that he would confirm it, or at the very least, wouldn’t deny it. He needed this much in his life to be true. Enjolras reached out to grab his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “That’s part of it,” he admitted, smiling at Grantaire before narrowing his eyes at Aphrodite. “But not just for Grantaire. The things he’s told me...it seems like the least we can do is offer clear-sighted mortals a place where they can belong.”

Aphrodite didn’t seem to have heard the latter part of Enjolras’s explanation, instead literally cooing and beaming at both of them. “I never thought I’d live to see the day,” she sighed to Anteros, who looked bemused. “After all that time when I thought he’d never find love…”

Enjolras flushed and Grantaire could practically hear him grinding his teeth together. “It’s not just about that,” he said through clenched teeth. “Especially since I somehow doubt that me getting to stay with Grantaire is going to be a convincing argument for anyone besides you.”

“But it  _ is _ so convincing,” Aphrodite cooed, clapping her hands together. “Seeing the two of you together, holding hands...it’d be enough to warm even the hardest heart, don’t you think?”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Look,” he said, putting on his most winning smile, “you and I both know that the reason why Enjolras wants this is so that he can spend every moment possible with me, but for the other gods...well, they may need a different argument to convince them. So why don’t we keep the  _ real _ reason between us?”

Aphrodite laughed. “You really did choose well,” she told Enjolras, who scowled at both Grantaire and Aphrodite. “Since you’re coming to me as a lover in need, I can hardly ignore such a request.” Her expression grew serious. “But that being said, you are asking for a hefty favor, and while I need little convincing, Dionysus and Zeus will be a different matter.”

“I have a feeling you’ll find a way to convince them,” Enjolras said dryly. “I’m just hoping it doesn’t involve the mystical powers of your cestus.” He cocked his head. “So do we have a deal? Are you willing to ask Zeus and Dionysus to allow it?”

For a moment, Aphrodite hesitated, and Grantaire held his breath. Then she smiled and shrugged. “Very well. I will ask.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Swear on the River Styx that you will do your best to convince them to allow it.”

Aphrodite looked insulted. “Do you not trust me? I love love, and will do everything that I can to see this work out.” Enjolras’s expression didn’t change, and she sighed. “Fine. I swear on the River Styx that I will try my hardest.”

A low roll of thunder sounded in the distance, and Enjolras grinned. Aphrodite sighed again, but she was smiling as she turned to Grantaire. “And even if for some reason I am unsuccessful, I want you to know that you still carry my blessing, and as long as you do, there will be a place for you at Camp Half-Blood.”

Grantaire’s grin was so wide that it almost made his face hurt. “Seriously?” he asked, looking over at Enjolras, who was also grinning. “That’s...thank you.” His smile faded slightly. “And what if I were to...I don’t know, lose your blessing?”

Aphrodite’s smile was sharp. “The only way you could possibly do that is by breaking my son’s heart,” she said sweetly, and both Enjolras and Grantaire’s smiles disappeared. “But since I’m sure that won’t happen…”

She trailed off and Grantaire swallowed. “Um, right. I’ll, uh, I’ll do my best.”

“You’re just lucky that I won’t make you swear on the River Styx,” Aphrodite said with a smirk. Her smiled softened. “But as you were as integral a part of this quest as my son, it seems only fair that I offer you a boon or at least a favor as well. Tell me, Grantaire — what can the goddess of love do for you?”

Grantaire snorted. “Well, Enjolras kind of stole my thunder with his favor since that was sort of what I was aiming for, but…there may be something that I would want to ask for.”

Aphrodite nodded. “Ask, and I shall do my best.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Grantaire said, a little sheepishly. “There is something that I want, just...not from you.”


	25. A Place to Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, _so_ much to everyone who has read, kudos'd, commented, etc.! I have to admit, this has been the most fun that I've ever had writing a fic, and I'm so glad that so many of you enjoyed sharing this ride with me!
> 
> Hopefully, this last chapter wraps everything up nicely. Enjoy!

Aphrodite arched a perfect eyebrow and Grantaire’s insides went cold at the look she gave him. “Not from me?” she repeated, her voice dangerously quiet.

Grantaire scratched the back of his neck. “Um, no?” he said, his voice about an octave higher than normal.

For a long moment, Aphrodite just stared at him, then she shrugged fluidly. “Very well. Then if I can’t be of service to assist you, who possibly can?”

Grantaire bit his lip, feeling suddenly nervous as he turned his back on the goddess of love to bow to the goddess who had been sitting unnoticed in the room the entire time. “Lady Hestia,” he said, his voice shaking. “I want to ask you for a favor.”

The goddess smiled up at him from her position next to the fire pit in the center of the room. “A favor from me?” she asked, sounding infinitely older than her young appearance. “What can the goddess of the hearth do for you?”

“Yes indeed,” Aphrodite sniffed, clearly put out. “What can  _ she _ possibly do for you that I can’t?”

Grantaire looked back at Aphrodite, beginning to feel like appeasing the gods was going to make a politician out of him. Enjolras would probably hate that, which did at least make the thought tempting. “It’s not that you  _ can’t _ do it for me,” he assured Aphrodite with a smile. “It’s that you’ve done so much for me already. And besides, I owe Hestia a debt, and perhaps what I have to ask her will help her as much as me.”

He turned back to Hestia, whose eyes glowed with even brighter flames than the ones she tended. “When I first met you, you told me that I might find a place to belong, and thanks to Enjolras and Aphrodite, I can stay at Camp Half-Blood, which is really all I’ve ever wanted. But…” He trailed off, struggling with how to put it into words. “Even at Camp Half-Blood, I’m going to be weird, to stick out. Rachel’s the same, to an extent, but at least she serves Apollo.” He shrugged. “I just thought, since everything in Camp Half-Blood is so regimented by godly parent, that maybe you could be, I don’t know, my patron or something. Isn’t that a thing that they used to do in Ancient Greece? Take a god or goddess as their patron?”

Hestia nodded slowly, her smile fading slightly. “It is indeed, but if it’s a patron you seek, I am perhaps not the wisest choice.” She spread her hands. “I have nothing to offer you as a goddess, no powers I could possibly bestow.”

“But that’s just it,” Grantaire said earnestly. “This whole entire quest...it’s been wild and crazy and more than I could ever have expected, but it’s also shown me that I’m really not made for this.” Enjolras made a noise like he was about to object and Grantaire grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I’m not a demigod,” he said bluntly. “I’m not meant for quests and magic and dealing with gods. But what I can be — what I  _ want _ to be — is the home that my friends can return to when they’re done with their quests.” He smiled at Hestia, who returned his smile with warmth. “And if there’s anyone who knows about that, it’s you.”

Aphrodite still looked a bit miffed by Grantaire’s request. “But how does Hestia becoming your patron help her?” she asked.

Grantaire grinned. “Because Hestia alone doesn’t have a cabin or campers at Camp Half-Blood. This way, she would.” He looked back at Hestia. “I mean, obviously it wouldn’t be exactly the same, but the clear-sighted mortals that come to camp could be kind of like your Hunters of Artemis. You’d be giving them a home, and in return, we’ll give you a place to belong, too.”

“Lord Zeus will never agree—” Aphrodite started, but Hestia stood, and while she was shorter than all of them, she somehow seemed to tower above them.

“Lord Zeus has no say in who I offer my protection to,” Hestia said calmly. “I gave up my throne once to keep the peace — I highly doubt Zeus would want to see what happens if I decide to change my mind.” She smiled at Grantaire. “I think this might be a good arrangement for both of us. If you’re going to be like the Hunters, we’ll have to come up with an oath and some kind of name.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “How about a ‘Tender of the Flame’?” Both Enjolras and Grantaire made identical faces and Hestia laughed. “Ok, so we’ll work on the name. In the meantime—”

She gestured for Grantaire to kneel, and Grantaire glanced over at Enjolras, who winked at him, before doing so. “Repeat after me,” Hestia said, seeming surprisingly regal considering that she still looked like a nine-year-old girl. “I pledge myself to the goddess Hestia and will tend the home fires for friends, family and all who need a place to belong.”

“I pledge myself to the goddess Hestia and will tend the home fires for friends, family and all who need a place to belong,” Grantaire repeated, before glancing up at Hestia. “Is that all?”

Hestia laughed. “Not quite.” She raised her chin. “I accept your oath.”

Instantly, Grantaire felt like he was enveloped in warmth, and he looked down at himself, yelping and falling backward when he realized that he was on fire. The fire lasted only momentarily, flickering down his body and disappearing, and Grantaire scrambled to his feet, glaring at Enjolras, who was laughing. “I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, sobering, but he couldn’t quite contain his grin. “You should’ve seen the look on your face.”

Grantaire glanced back at Hestia, who was also laughing, though her laugh was gentler. “Grantaire, you have been marked with the flame that I tend,” she told him, suddenly serious, and she reached out to take both his hands in hers. “From here on out, as long as I am your patron, wheresoever you are, there you will be home.”

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Grantaire’s cheek, and he felt the kiss burn the way Aphrodite’s had what seemed to be so long ago now. As if following his same line of thought, Aphrodite cleared her throat. “Well, this has been  _ just _ lovely,” she said, “but now it’s time for you both to go.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said instantly, turning and giving his mother a short bow. “We’ll take the elevator down and catch a cab back to camp. Give your scared, um, goose a rest.” He paused before adding, in a tone that sounded as if it was paining him a little, “Thank you for everything.”

Aphrodite smiled sweetly at him. “Even for the quest?” she asked.

Enjolras scowled. “We’ll see,” he said, a little darkly. He glanced over at Grantaire. “Are you ready?”

“In just a minute,” Grantaire said, smiling at him. “I, uh, I need a quick word in private. But I’ll catch up with you, I promise.”

Though Enjolras’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, he shrugged, bowing once more to his mother and to Hestia before heading out of the hall. Grantaire turned to Anteros. “Can I have a word with you?” he asked.

Anteros looked surprised. “Of course,” he said, waiting for Grantaire to quickly give a fumbling bow to both Hestia and Aphrodite before following him toward the door. “Though I’m not sure what more I can do for you.”

“Well, that’s just the thing,” Grantaire said, a little hesitantly, “it’s not something you can do for me. See, your brother shot Combeferre, Enjolras’s best friend, to try to force the two of them to fall in love. And I was just wondering if you could, I don’t know, fix that. Somehow.”

Anteros’s brow furrowed. “Are you asking for yourself?” he asked carefully. “Do you fear that Enjolras might one day return his friend’s love?”

Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said honestly. “I mean, who knows what could happen in the future. Maybe Enjolras will fall in love with Combeferre someday, or, heck, maybe he’ll just end up falling in love with someone else. Love isn’t predestined, at least according to you.” Anteros smiled slightly. “But right now, there’s someone who loves Combeferre very much, and I just think it’s only fair that Combeferre have a real shot at requited love. Since that is, you know, your jam and all.”

“My jam and all,” Anteros repeated, shaking his head slightly. “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

“So can you help him?” Grantaire asked earnestly.

For a long moment, Anteros was quiet, his expression unreadable as he stared at Grantaire with his blood-red eyes. Then he shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said, and Grantaire frowned. “But to do so, I must speak first with this Combeferre. Send him to find me, and then we shall see.”

Grantaire’s frown deepened. “How will he know where to find you?” he asked.

Anteros smiled slightly. “He is a son of Athena, is he not?” he asked. “He must figure that out for himself.”

With that, Anteros inclined his head toward Grantaire and turned to walk back to where Aphrodite was waiting. Grantaire shook his head. “Gods,” he muttered, turning to head out of the hall. “Olympus forbid they give you a straight answer about anything.”

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he barely noticed the incredible beauty of Olympus as he followed the winding path down the mountain peak toward where Enjolras waited for him next to an elevator door that appeared to open into thin air. “What was that about?” he asked when Grantaire finally joined him.

“Just some unfinished business,” Grantaire told him with a smile, and when Enjolras did not look reassured, he leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll tell you about it some other time,” he promised. “For now, let’s get back to camp. I’m sure Combeferre and Courfeyrac are waiting to see if Zeus incinerated us.”

Enjolras grinned. “To be fair, he really only would’ve incinerated you, but...point taken.” He pressed the button next to the elevator door, and the doors opened, revealing a perfectly normal. “After you.”

Grantaire stepped inside, suddenly keenly aware that the elevator was probably hovering in mid-air. “This is weird,” he said.

“Dude. After everything you’ve seen and done and been through,  _ this _ is the part that you think is weird?” Enjolras asked skeptically, pushing the button for the lobby.

“You’ve got a point, I suppose,” Grantaire said as the elevator played muzak in the background as it slowly descended. “But you could definitely use this as an opportunity to distract me.”

Enjolras grinned. “I suppose I could.”

When the elevator doors finally opened with a  _ ding _ in the lobby of the Empire State Building, Enjolras’s hair was mussed and Grantaire was pretty sure he’d wind up with a hickie. Or five. “Worth it,” he muttered to Enjolras as they made their way past the staring tourists waiting to go up.

Enjolras just grinned and grabbed his hand.

Once outside, Enjolras reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin, and Grantaire groaned. “Please don’t tell me we’re taking the Gray Sisters again,” he sighed.

“Don’t worry,” Enjolras reassured him. “I’ll distract you all the way to Camp, too.”

When the gray taxi appeared and Enjolras and Grantaire had both clambered inside, Grantaire turned to Enjolras, ready to take him up on his offer when something heavy, wet and slimy landed in his lap. He looked down and gagged. “Give me the eyeball!” all three sisters chimed from the front.

Enjolras watched with envy as Grantaire lifted the eye with the very tips of his fingers. “You can ask them anything you want, you know,” he said.

Grantaire didn’t even hesitate before handing the eyeball to Tempest, who was driving. “I know what I’m going to be doing for the next thirty minutes at least,” he said simply. “Beyond that, I don’t need to know.”

Tempest snatched the eye and popped it back in her socket before winking at Grantaire (at least, he thought she winked at him. It was hard to tell when she had only one eye). “You’ve got a good future ahead of you,” she told him.

“Just drive,” Wasp complained loudly, reaching across to pound on the steering wheel as Tempest shrieked and batted her hand away.

Grantaire grinned at Enjolras. “A good future indeed,” he said.

Still, when they finally got back to camp, as they were walking hand-in-hand up the hill, Grantaire hesitated. “Maybe I should’ve asked the Gray Sisters something,” he muttered.

Enjolras stopped and frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I just...I’m still not convinced that you weren’t somehow forced into this whole love thing, what with the Mark of Anteros and the monsters and this quest…”

He trailed off, but Enjolras smiled at him, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “Look, I may not be the perfect son of Aphrodite, but I know enough to tell you that what Anteros said is true — love is rarely predestined. It can be a choice. And honestly, if we were to have met under different circumstances, I’d like to think that I’d choose you, regardless.” He ducked his head, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “Also, since I don’t think I’ve actually said it  _ to _ you…” He looked up at Grantaire, smiling. “I love you.”

Grantaire only managed a small smile in return. “And I think it’s pretty obvious that I love you, too.”

“Why am I sensing a ‘but’?” Enjolras asked dryly.

Grantaire sighed. “Not a ‘but’, per se, but while we’re on the subject of choices…” He hesitated before blurting, “I still feel a little like you gave up your Cause for me. And I just never wanted you to have to make that choice.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have a high opinion of yourself,” he said, winking at Grantaire. “I never said I gave up my Cause for  _ you _ .” Grantaire rolled his eyes as well and Enjolras smiled. “I mean, yes, I gave up my Cause  _ because _ of you, but not because I fell in love with you. Or at least, not  _ just _ because of falling in love with you.” He squeezed Grantaire’s hand again. “Being with you, seeing how all of this affected you — it showed me that the way I wanted to go about things wasn’t the way to go.” He grinned. “But don’t think that you have  _ that _ much influence over me. I may have given up this specific pursuit, but that doesn’t mean I’m done.”

Grantaire frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked. Enjolras’s grin widened and Grantaire groaned. “You’re going to find another way, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Enjolras said breezily, his eyes gleaming. “I already sent an Iris-message to Combeferre while I was waiting for you on Olympus to assemble Les Amis. We’ve got work to do. And this time, we’re going to figure out a plan that will do good and might actually work.”

The visions he had of spending a lazy summer together with Enjolras were rapidly disappearing, and Grantaire sighed. “It’s going to be a  _ long _ summer,” he said, sighing again, but he squeezed Enjolras’s hand. “But I’m with you, regardless. Now until the end.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Are you actually planning on being helpful?” he asked, clearly suspicious.

Shrugging, Grantaire turned to look down at camp. “That depends,” he said.

“On what?”

Grantaire looked back to smile beatifically at him. “On how much I can piss you off by being  _ un _ helpful,” he told him before adding, his smile turning wicked, “Adonis.”

Enjolras growled. “I’m going to dunk you in the freaking lake,” he threatened, though he couldn’t stop the smile on his face.

Grantaire grinned, leaned in and kissed Enjolras lightly on the lips. “You’ll have to catch me first,” he whispered before leaping away and sprinting full speed down the hill.

“Not fair!” Enjolras shouted, springing after him to pursue. “You’re  _ so _ dead when I catch you!”

Grantaire just laughed, running down the hill toward home.


End file.
